


Don't Break Character

by catiewithac



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, mentions of child abuse, mentions of drug abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catiewithac/pseuds/catiewithac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles only had one more year in the Hunger Games's Reaping, but that was when his luck ran out. Forced to leave behind his friends and family in District 10, he finds himself stuck with a questionable mentor, a stylist with a mysterious history, and an ally who he may or may not want more with. He thinks if he can just get through the Games then everything will be alright, but things changed when he inadvertently did the one thing he knew he shouldn't do: get attached. Now his mentor is telling him at every turn what a disaster everything will turn out to be, and Stiles along with his allies are only too aware. What's more, a member of his team is harboring their own motives concerning his position in the Games, which might just destroy all that he had managed to accomplish since his name was picked from that damn glass bowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blackened Hopes

Stiles Stilinski wasn’t planning on having a good day. From the moment he woke up, he knew nothing even bordering on happy would occur until the following morning. So he made his father and himself a meager breakfast without talking much and his father didn’t comment like he normally would because he knew what the answer would be. It was Reaping Day in District 10. Everybody was in a bad mood.

“It’s your last,” his father reminded as he began eating.

Yes. And somehow that made it worse. He’s gotten through six reapings so far, though, and hopefully his record would hold. He nodded, putting on a fake grin.

“Next year I get to just watch,” he said.

“Stiles,” John responded, that saddened look so very evident on his face.

“Sorry, it’s just not much of a comfort, okay?” he replied.

His dad nodded, and their conversation ended there. This was basically the way their relationship went after Mrs. Stilinski passed away. John drifted within himself and Stiles kept things going. He learned how to cook and milk the cows, anything necessary. His father had gotten better over the years, but now he simply seemed obsessed with his job instead of his self-pity.

“I think my old suit should finally fit you this year,” John said as Stiles started washing the dishes.

“Awesome,” he let out, not even bothering to turn around.

John sighed and left the kitchen, a common occurrence. A few minutes later, Stiles entered his bedroom to find his dad’s old suit lying on his bed. He was expecting it, but he didn’t want to wear it. This was the suit he had married his mother in, and quite frankly, he didn’t like the significance. But John would be disappointed if he didn’t wear it, so wear it he did.

Stiles left the house with a quick goodbye to his dad. As he closed the door, he could hear his dad trying to initiate a proper farewell, but Stiles just wanted to pretend it was a normal day. It was a normal day. He had gotten up to help milk the cows in the morning and then sold it at the market, just like always. John would be leaving their house a bit closer to the Reaping, but Stiles had to get there early to sign in. As he neared the town square, he spotted his best friend coming down another side street and raised an arm to alert him.

Scott McCall rushed forward in that excited, nervous way that he did, and in fact he looked less put-together than normal. This was okay though, because only the people who might be reaped traditionally dressed up. After all, Scott was nineteen.

“This is worse than being in the Reaping,” Scott said as a greeting.

“Now you know how I felt when you were twelve and I was eleven,” Stiles replied nonchalantly, “And that was much worse because _I was eleven_. You know, you don’t even have to be here.”

“Yes, I do, it’d be worse watching it on TV,” he said, “I have to be here for you and Allison.”

Stiles smirked as they continued walking towards the square. Scott and Allison had started dating several months before, and they were about in love as you could be. The two were always hanging on each other, always touching in some way, and Stiles would find it revolting were it not for the fact that Scott had fawned over her since the moment he saw her. He couldn’t bring himself to be anything but proud, to be honest, and happy for him. There was that too.

But right now, Scott was a nervous wreck. Much more anxious than Stiles was, at least on the outside. His buddy had a habit of displaying every emotion on his sleeve.

“How many times is your name in the bowl?” he asked.

“Just a couple,” he replied casually.

That was an understatement.

“Stiles,” Scott practically growled.

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles said with a wave of his hand, “It’s always just fine.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott mumbled.

Soon after, he spotted Allison and left to talk to her while Stiles waited in line for his finger to be pricked. He drummed his fingers against his thighs absentmindedly, trying to think of anything but the moment. After that ordeal was over, he had to stand in a large group of all District 10 boys from twelve to eighteen. As a member of the oldest age group and having a last name near the end of the alphabet, he was positioned in the second to last row. Luck would have it that he had a clear view of his dad where he stood with Scott and Mrs. McCall. Melissa looked just as worried as the other two, and Stiles felt a pang from the reminder that she thought of him as a second son. The feeling was mutual.

Soon after that, their escort began the event. Marin Morell spoke evenly and elegantly in such a way that you felt as though every word was of utmost importance, which Stiles supposed was her job. For Capital people, she was fairly simple looking with dark straight hair and a pantsuit. Though her outfit was brightly colored red, she could almost pass for a District member if it wasn’t for her accent. She told the same story that she did every year, the one that Stiles knew was worded to put the Districts in the wrong. Everybody knew who really was, but it didn’t matter. After President Gerard’s short remarks, the Reaping truly began. Morell picked a paper from the girls’ glass bowl, as was tradition, and announced the female tribute.

“Erica Reyes,”

There was the sound of a gasp from the other side of the square before the blonde girl was pushed forward. She was holding her head high despite her audible reaction and the tears in her eyes. Stiles knew he should’ve felt sorry for her, but all he could feel was relief that it wasn’t Allison. He locked gazes with his friend and smiled reassuringly to show this, and she nodded sadly in response. Obviously she felt what he could not. Guilt, he supposed.

Erica stood stiffly on the stage as Morell approached the other glass bowl. She fished around this time, perhaps trying to make it more dramatic, and a familiar buzzing began to fill his hearing. He picked a spot on a random building and stared at it, swallowing nervously as he tried to quell his anxiety. So caught up in his loud thoughts of “CALM DOWN, CALM DOWN,” that he only caught the tail end of the announcement.

“- Stilinski,”

He snapped his head to look at the stage in disbelief. Only two people in District 10 had that last name, and one of them was his father. Before he could react, someone was pushing him towards the empty middle space. He was breathing erratically, still trying to process what was happening. Catching Allison’s gaze again, he saw her horror as tears began trailing down her face.

“Stiles!” a scream came from the opposite direction.

He knew it was Scott without a doubt. Looking over, he saw his best friend throwing himself against the barrier of Peacekeepers as Melissa tried to pull him back. They were both full-out sobbing while his father stood shaking, just as much in shock as Stiles was. A second later, he was torn away from the sight as two Peacekeepers dragged him into the aisle. He pulled his arms roughly from their grasp and convinced his body to walk forward, still trying desperately to control his breathing. His movements were stiff and shaking, but they were movements nonetheless. The journey to the stage seemed long and agonizing, but in reality didn't last longer than a minute. Morell directed him to the microphone with an unemotional smile.

"So-,"

"It's Stiles," he interrupted without thinking, "Call me Stiles."

Somewhere in his subconscious, he was still worried about all of Panem hearing his horribly unpronounceable name for a second time.

"Okay, Stiles, how do you feel to be in the Hunger Games?" she asked as if it was the most exciting thing in existence.

He gritted his teeth.

"How do I feel about it," he repeated quietly, feeling a snarky retort coming on, "I-,"

He stopped abruptly as he spotted Allison shaking her head ever so slightly. _You'll make it worse_ , her expression said, _Please don't_. He stared at her, knowing she was right, but he was still shaking.

"Yes?" Morell prompted.

Stiles tore his gaze away.

"I feel pretty numb about the whole thing," he answered, telling the truth while slipping a casual tone into it.

"Well, I'm sure the excitement will set in soon," she told him, corner of her mouth up a bit, “May I present, the District 10 tributes of the 63rd annual Hunger Games, Erica Reyes and Stiles Stilinski!”

The crowd clapped mutely for as short a time as possible, just like always, and before he knew it, he was being dragged into the large building behind them. The peacekeepers led him into a room and instructed him on what happened next. He’d receive some visitors and then Stiles would be off to the Capital. They locked him inside and almost instantly after the door clicked, he released a shuddering breath.

His eyes started watering for the first time as he paced back and forth, the knuckles of one hand pressed against his mouth anxiously. Minutes passed before the door opened and his father walked stiffly inside. Stiles rushed to embrace him and they stayed like that for a bit, John with his hand in his son’s hair and Stiles with his face pressed to his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dad,” he said, louder than he thought possible at the moment, “Don’t go back to that place if this goes badly, okay?”

John held his son’s face in his hands fondly, tears finally slipping onto his cheeks. He shook his head slowly.

“No, you can’t fall to pieces again, Dad,” Stiles told him sternly, “I want you to be happy, alright? No matter what happens, please just… get through it.”

His dad stared at him for a few moments more, as if trying to understand him completely as fast as possible, before pulling him into another hug.

“I love you, Stiles,” he managed to get out.

“I love you too.”

Seconds later, the door was opened and they were forced to separate. There wasn’t a word of actual goodbye. That wasn’t needed. It didn’t take long for someone to enter the room once John left. Scott rushed to pull him into a tight hug before pulling apart and gripping his arms.

“You can do this, Stiles,” he said firmly through tears.

“Scott,” he breathed out, not wanting to actually say what he was thinking.

“No, no,” his best friend replied, “You’re not a quitter. You’re a stubborn ass, a fighter.”

“I have no idea how to do _anything_ remotely helpful,” he stated, “I can’t do that stuff.”

“You can learn,” Scott pleaded.

“I’ll try, I will, but it’s not gon-,”

“No, Stiles, listen,” he interrupted, “You’re the smart one. You just have to believe that you can do it. Please.”

He soaked in these words, and then pushed them aside for later.

“Alright, Scotty,” Stiles said softly, “Alright, but worst case scenario, you have to take care of my dad, okay?”

He nodded seriously.

“I promise.”

Scott went in for one last bro-hug just as the Peacekeepers entered to escort him out. He gripped his shoulder for a second and sent him a meaningful gaze.

“You can do it, man,” he called, tears pooling again as they pulled him outside, “You can win it.”

Stiles nodded before losing sight of his best friend and turning around, thinking that would be it. As luck would have it, the door opened to reveal Allison and Mrs. McCall.

“They only allowed three groups,” Allison said softly, “We though Scott should come alone.”

He nodded again, not sure what to say, as Melissa suddenly embraced him. Stiles was surprised, but quickly hugged back.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” he quietly replied, “It’s okay, Ms. McCall.”

“No, it’s not,” Allison said firmly as Melissa pulled away, “This can never be okay.”

They were silent for a moment. Stiles looked at Allison slightly worriedly.

“You shouldn’t really say stuff like that here,” he said almost inaudibly.

“I don’t care. This-,” she scoffed, “this can’t be happening.”

“Well, it is.” He turned to Melissa. “Don’t let them blame themselves, Scott or my dad. I’m gonna be fine.”

“Stiles-,” Allison began.

“And you,” he said with a slight smile, “Be careful… and try not to break my best friend’s heart.”

She embraced him quickly but tightly before turning to leave, wiping tears as she did so. Always the strong one, after all. Mrs. McCall didn’t follow immediately, instead she squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

“I agree with Scott, you know,” she said, “Don’t be so quick to write yourself off. I expect you to come home.”

He swallowed and nodded, allowing the smallest of smiles to form. She returned it and then was led out. Now there would definitely be no one else. True to this thought, the peacekeepers returned a moment later to lead him to the train. Stiles exchanged a glance with Erica as they were reunited, but there was no emotion in it. He barely knew the girl and, frankly, this wasn’t the time to start forming a bond.

Completely ignoring the cameras surrounding them, he boarded the silver train and couldn’t help but stare in awe at the contents. Erica brushed past him straight towards the trays of pastries and started eating one, and Stiles was reminded that there were families in his district in much worse positions than he was. At least his father still had their milking cows, that is if he still has the will to use them. _No,_ don’t think about that. Don’t.

He sat down in a plushy chair by the table and absently picked up a muffin. Erica placed herself in the seat beside him, but stayed on the edge so as to reach the food more easily. Stiles picked at his baked good but couldn’t truly stomach it, especially as Morell began talking to them about all the things that would happen next. He didn’t _care_ , and quite frankly didn’t want to hear a word of it. Stiles did start paying attention when a new person entered the train car.

He had seen the man around town once in a while and knew who he was, everybody did actually. Derek Hale had won the Hunger Games several years earlier, when he was fifteen and Stiles was only seven. Three years later, his entire family was killed in a house fire. It was ruled an accident, but the people of District 10 knew what had really happened. For some unknown reason, the Capital had murdered them. Ever since that, Derek had lived a silent existence and only came into town every month or so to stock up. He walked in now with a glass of amber liquid and stood across from Stiles and Erica, even though there was a chair available beside Morell.

“What can you do?” he questioned, his expression free of emotion.

“What?” Erica asked.

“ _What_ can you _do_ that I can _work with_?” he repeated in annoyance.

“That’s it, you’re gonna start with that?” Stiles said loudly, “No introduction? No ‘sorry for getting picked’? I can tell how this is gonna go already.”

Derek glared at him for a moment before taking a swig of his drink, placing the glass on the table, and folding his arms.

“I’m not interested in becoming your friend,” he told them evenly, “I’m here to try to keep you alive.”

Stiles didn’t have a response for that, but he was luckily spared from having to come up with something as Erica spoke up.

“I can fight,” she said, her voice a mixture of uncertainty and assurance.

He immediately shot her a surprised look and their mentor clearly felt the same.

“How?” Derek asked, “bow and arrows, a sword-,”

“Knives,” she supplied, “I can throw knives.”

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Stiles asked.

“I practiced at my family’s butcher’s shop,” Erica answered, “I wanted to feel like I could do something.”

It made sense, he realized, especially since she must’ve had a lot of free time with their shop being one of the least visited in the district.

“That’s good, we can work on that,” Derek replied without really changing his tone, “How about you?”

Stiles swallowed.

“Well, uh, I mean,” he began, “when you’re asking for things that I can _do_ , do you mean-,”

“Ways to fight, survival skills,” Derek interrupted heatedly, “can you do anything remotely helpful?”

He licked his lips anxiously as he wracked his brain for anything, _anything_ , that he could say. But Stiles thought of nothing. He wished terribly that he had taken Allison up on that offer to teach him archery, but he was stupid enough to think he would never need it. This whole thing was unfathomable. Stiles wasn’t aware that he had begun to shake before he abruptly stood up and left the train car. Morell called after him, and he actually glanced back, only to see Derek shaking his head minutely in disapproval.

He wasn’t going to take this shit. Not right now.

Stiles opened the first door he came across and entered a medium-sized bedroom. He sat on the edge of the huge bed and plucked a remote from the side table. Not sure what to expect, he turned the large television on to see an overview of the districts reapings. His fingers twitched to change the channel, but something compelled him to keep watching. The McCalls’ voices echoed in his ear. _You’re the smart one. I expect you to come home._ He needed a plan, and it was going to start with checking out the competition.

He had missed the first couple districts, but he already knew what to expect from them. Careers, kids trained to kill since they were little, who volunteered to fight to the death. No matter what, he’d be watching them. As it was, Stiles picked up the show at the end of District 4, where the newsmen were discussing the volunteer male tribute, Ethan, whose twin brother had won the Games two years before and would be mentoring. He remembered that guy, Aiden, as a vicious body-builder and it was clear that Ethan wasn’t too different.

District 5’s tributes didn’t seem especially dangerous, the girl in her mid-teens looking timid and the boy being one of the younger ones. They approached the stage as most non-Careers did, trembling but submissive, and so the newsmen quickly moved on from the boring Reaping. District 6’s female tribute, however, immediately caught Stiles’s eye. He’d remember that name for the rest of his life, h was sure of it.

Lydia Martin

At first he could just see a tumble of strawberry blonde waves, but as the camera zoomed in, he knew she must be around his age. Her bright green eyes were scared yet determined and though her body shook as she walked, no one needed to push her forward. There was something about her expression, the set of her mouth, that screamed resolute.  There was no sharp denial like Stiles had experienced, she was going forward with the confidence of a guilty murderer to his execution. There was no changing what she was approaching, but damn it if she wasn’t going to fight anyway.

So as Lydia took her place beside the District 6 escort, standing strong yet terrified nonetheless, Stiles knew right then and there who his best ally would be.


	2. The Company You Keep

The male tribute from District 6 was a skittish boy named Isaac Lahey. Whether he would be useful in an alliance was still to be determined, but from the sympathetic glance Lydia shot the curly-haired teen, Stiles figured he would be part of any deal they made. Though, the more he thought about it, he knew that Erica would be in any alliance he joined as well. The rest of the District Reapings didn’t really catch his eye, except for the review of his own District 10. Stiles didn’t even realize he was trembling until they started talking about the next Reaping.

They had showed nearly all of the footage, or at least it seemed that way. The worst part wasn’t even watching himself shake uncontrollably as he walked to the stage, it was hearing Scott’s desperate cries in the background and seeing his family in tears on the sidelines. The two newscasters even seemed interested in the situation.

“You don’t see a lot of reactions that are this vocal,” Jennifer Blake was saying, “So much raw emotion will surely push this tribute to win.”

“He might look scrawny right now, but we’ve seen less buff tributes become victors,” Bobby Finstock replied before laughing heartily, “And the way he corrects Morell before she even utters a word? This Stilinski kid’s got something in him that might just work.”

It was almost encouraging if he could ignore the way they spoke as if he wasn’t a real person. Stiles cringed as he remembered that Finstock would be interviewing him in less than a week. Once the reviews were done, he turned the television off and fell back on the bed with a thump. The soft mattress and blankets were the most comfortable things he’d ever felt, but he’d never be able to appreciate them. Stiles turned his head slightly to watch as the countryside zipped by, a blur of browns and greens, before closing his eyes.

Sleep was virtually impossible, and when he did manage to doze off he dreamed of nothing good. Dead bodies lay at his feet and blood covered his hands all the way up to his elbows, all while laughing and cheering echoed in the distance. He kept waking up in shock, trembling and sweating, to the point where he just resigned himself to watching the window again. As soon as the hints of dawn emerged, Stiles returned to the main room he had been in before to find a new array of food, this time breakfast centered.

He helped himself to a plate of chocolate-chip pancakes with a generous helping of butter, his hunger finally back despite everything.  Plus, he could never get this kind of luxury at home. Stiles stopped and stared at the cup of butter at that thought, knowing that the dairy product had been produced in his own district, yet only the mayor could possibly afford it.

“You’re up early,” a voice sounded from the doorway, causing Stiles to jump.

He turned to see Derek approaching the table, looking just as gloomy as the day before.

“ _God_ , you know, surprising me isn’t really necessary,” Stiles spat, staring his mentor down as he began filling his plate with English muffins, “You could walk in the room a bit more so that I actually know you’re here before you scare me to death.”

“You’re just on edge,” Derek stated, sitting down across from Stiles, “It’s normal.”

He let out a huff of annoyance before digging into his pancakes again, refusing to let Derek get to him even though the reply stung. They sat in silence for several minutes more, Stiles angrily stuffing each piece into his mouth while Derek ate in impossible calmness. Finally he slammed his fork onto the table.

“So what’s the plan?” Stiles asked urgently, “What happens while we’re here besides the stuff you see on TV? Are we going to train a lot, or sit around learning to be diplomatic, and what exactly do you do?”

“Both,” Derek answered, biting into his English muffin, “but mostly you’re going to train. Especially you. Train and learn how not to die in the first twenty-four hours.”

He nodded slowly, though still a bit pissed at his mentor’s composure.

“And you’re going to be the one training me?” Stiles inquired.

“Mostly, but that doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

“What the hell are we doing today?” he demanded, “The Tribute Parade isn’t until tonight.”

Derek sighed heavily.

“They spend the whole day cleaning you up and fitting your costume,” he answered, for once looking slightly empathetic.

Stiles let out a long breath, trying to calm himself down from the anger and anxiety that had instantly surged. The Capitol couldn’t wait to see him, believe that they know him, and then watch him kill or be killed. And his family would be watching, they’d _all_ be watching, his father and Scott and Melissa and Allison.

He was saved from having to continue thinking about this when Erica entered the room, immediately delving into the food. She sat beside Stiles, took a forkful of waffle, and looked up expectantly.

“So what are we talking about?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Well,” he began before Derek interrupted.

“We’re going to start talking about how to survive,” he said, startling Stiles.

“So we can do that now, then?” he interrogated, “I thought you said training wasn’t until tomorrow.”

“This is just talking,” Derek stated matter-of-factly before turning to Erica and beginning to speak about how to find freshwater.

Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously, sure that his mentor was simply waiting for his fellow tribute to arrive. He would’ve argued more, but he knew he would need the survival tips Derek had begun doling out. He and Erica asked questions once in a while, but it was mostly the young adult who did the talking throughout the morning. Morell joined them eventually, giving a brief overview of the day’s schedule, which Stiles promptly ignored. He’d find out soon enough, after all.

It wasn’t long before the Capitol itself came into view. Despite himself, Stiles rose out of his chair to look out the window more closely, Erica on his heels. The city was nothing he had ever seen before, not in person anyway. He’d seen glimpses on TV and pictures in textbooks, but everything seemed grander this way. Erica wore an absolutely awed expression, and he was sure that he did too.

It was only after the train began to slow down and they started passing actual Capitol citizens that Stiles felt sick again. The people were just so _excited_ about their arrival and he couldn’t wrap his head around why. He knew they saw the Games as a fun and necessary annual event, he knew they had been raised that way, and yet he still couldn’t comprehend it. Erica was smiling widely at the adorers, nodding her head a bit as if in greeting. To him, it was clearly fake, but he expected the Capitol people to believe it since they saw it every year. Stiles also knew that he should be ingratiating himself with them as well, that it would help get him sponsors.

Slowly but surely, he managed to plaster on a laughing grin, even waving a little here and there. The crowd loved it, but each wildly bedazzled person he saw cheering seemed to take a knife into his chest. He was endlessly relieved once the train finally stopped inside a building, the plain silver outside the windows giving away this fact. Morell hastily ushered him and Erica towards the exit. When he glanced back, he saw Derek somberly watching them go, and the mentor raised his glass to him before Stiles was torn away.

The tributes were swiftly separated, and he was whisked into a room of what he would soon discover to be called the Remake Center. Stiles quickly discovered why Derek had sounded so sympathetic when talking about this day. Being told to strip naked in front of complete not to mention crazy-looking strangers was quite the shock, though he wasn’t sure why this was so surprising. It’s the Capitol and he is a tribute in the Hunger Games, after all. 

It only got more mortifying and uncomfortable. His prep team, which was composed of three detached young adults, scrubbed his body with the grittiest soap imaginable in order to get off all the dirt and several layers of skin, or so it seemed to Stiles. This was followed by a full body wax, as if it was completely abnormal to have hair anywhere but the top of your head and eyebrows. Every time he voiced his complaints, cynical as ever, he was rapidly cut off by part of the prep team. They simply told him to ‘hush,’ which only angered him more.

Finally, after hours of this torture, their work was done and they called his stylist inside. The man looked about in his thirties, tall with brunette hair that was slightly slicked back and cold blue eyes. He looked altogether non-Capitol in his plain brown v-neck shirt, chocolate colored leather jacket, and dark jeans. His expression already looked displeased, and there was something about it that almost seemed familiar.

“Peter Hale,” he introduced, “We’ll be getting to know each other a lot this week, or rather I’ll be getting to know a lot more than I’d like about you.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“This isn’t exactly what I’d call a preferable situation for me either,” he countered just before he processed the last name, “Wait a second, are you related to Derek?”

Peter smirked and dismissed the prep team before turning to him with a disgusted expression.

“Cover up, will you? I don’t need to see this,” he stated distastefully as he gestured to the thin robe hanging on the wall.

Stiles didn’t need to hear it twice. He instantly grabbed the cloth and put it on, still not satisfied even with it.

“To answer your question,” Peter began, “yes, I am Derek’s uncle but I’m not going to waste my time explaining this to you. I’m here to make you and the other tribute look good enough that people will want to pay for your possible survival. This task itself is quite improbable, but I might as well try.”

He gritted his teeth. This was the kind of thing he expected to hear as a subtle undertone that the Capitol citizens didn’t even know they were releasing, not so blatant and straightforward. He opened his mouth to return an insult, but the stylist held up a hand to stop him.

“We’re eating lunch,” Peter stated, before turning back into the room he had come from.

Stiles followed cautiously, unsure about everything concerning this guy, but sat down on one of the couches nonetheless. The stylist sat across from him and pushed a button on the table, immediately bringing forth a chicken entrée with various lavish sides. Peter began eating without a word, and so he followed suit despite his misgivings.

“So,” the older man finally spoke casually, “about your costume for the Tribute Parade, Boyd and I discussed it before the Reapings but now we are positive about the plan. It’s ready for the fitting as soon as you finish eating.”

“Okay,” Stiles drew out the word skeptically, “Care to tell me what the costume is or who this Boyd person is? And please tell me it’s not cowboys or something equally overdone and ridiculous.”

“Boyd is the girl’s stylist-,”

“Erica,” he interrupted in irritation.

“Right, Erica,” Peter waved the subject off, “Your costumes will be representing the products District 10 make. That means dairy for Erica and meat for you.”

“What?” Stiles said, scrunching his face up in confusion.

“You’ll see,” he smirked again.

He ate the rest of the meal in complete and utter frustration, which didn’t begin to ebb until he returned to the previous room. His costume had been hung on the wall in his absence, and his jaw all but dropped at the sight of it. It was a dark gray and brown leotard with flecks of red, the colors mixing together seamlessly with no true boundaries between them.

“This is hideous,” Stiles exclaimed.

“It’s not supposed to be beautiful,” Peter deadpanned, “It’s supposed to make people notice and remember.”

“But didn’t you say earlier that your job was to make me look good?” he argued.

“Good as in _interesting_ ,” the stylist replied crossly, “and this will definitely get the job done. Now put it on so we can make adjustments.”

Stiles grumbled but ultimately did as he was told. The fabric was light and cool, but thick enough that he felt like he had real clothing on and not a _leotard_. Peter inspected him closely before calling in the prep team again. He pointed out flaw after flaw, and the three young adults stitched up any area that was loose. By the end, it was as tight as humanly possible and Stiles hated it even more.

“Time for stage two,” Peter stated, snapping his fingers.

“What?” he complained, “Is this gonna make it better or worse?”

The stylist only smirked, which Stiles was beginning to loathe most of all. The prep team pulled out several silver containers and opened them with a _pop_. As soon as one of them dipped what looked like a large paint brush into the substance, he took a step back.

“What the _hell_ is that?” he cried, “Is tha- is that blood?”

“Calm down, it’s not real blood,” Peter said, annoyed as usual, “It’s a special solution made just for this purpose and it will be what makes you memorable.”

“Well, where’s it going?” Stiles questioned uncertainly.

“Where isn’t it going?” he sneered, “Now stay still and let the nice people do their job.”

“You’re going to cover me in blood,” he stated, trying to keep his speech from shaking and failing miserably.

It was as if any confidence or dignity he had managed to retain had disappeared with this realization. And yet, there was nothing he could do to prevent this.

“Fake blood,” Peter repeated, his voice unexpectedly softer.

Stiles locked gazes with the older man for a moment and found, for the first time, a sense of empathy in them. Almost… as if he cared? But this was instantly forgotten when the prep team began painting his skin with the substance. It was oily and lukewarm, absolutely revolting to the touch, and Stiles clenched his fists in an attempt to stay calm.

It took over an hour for Peter to be satisfied with the amount of the solution on him. He and the prep team left him alone in the room until it was time to leave for the chariots. Supposedly, it wouldn’t be long now. Stiles couldn’t stop staring at himself in the long mirror. The blood _–substance_ covered every inch of his body. His hair was drenched in it, his usually pale skin colored coppery red. It was too real, way too real, and he hated the Capitol impossibly more for being able to create it. Peter had told him that the solution wouldn’t dry or drip off, and could only be removed with a thorough washing.

Before he knew it, Stiles was trembling and he let out a choking breath, desperately blinking back tears. He couldn’t do this, _he couldn’t do this_ , but he was being forced to. His mind was screaming the fear at him, repeating it again and again, how in a week’s time this could be real. It could be real blood, either his own just after his family involuntarily watched him be brutally murdered or someone else’s after he lost himself to desperation or savagery. The most terrifying part was Stiles didn’t even know which scenario was worse.

He jumped when the door opened to reveal Derek, who stopped in his tracks at the sight of him. Whether this was at his costume or the obvious tears in his eyes, he couldn’t tell.

“We’re ready to go,” he finally uttered quietly.

Stiles nodded, took a deep breath, and left the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title comes from The Killers's The Rising Tide, which is a great listen and quite relevant. This one is a bit too short for my liking, but I really wanted to finish it last night. I literally went back to The Hunger Games book to make sure I was getting some stuff right, so I guess I'm more dedicated than I originally thought to this. At any rate, thanks for reading!


	3. A Ripped-Up Ticket Stub

Stiles didn’t have the energy to be surprised by the costume Erica was wearing. Maybe a bit envious, but not surprised. It was a stark white dress whose skirt and shoulders puffed out, but her powdered skin was the most striking. It was just as white as her dress, causing her brown eyes to be exemplified tenfold. Even her hair was doused with the color.

They stood by their chariot as the other tributes made their entrance, all dressed in equally if not stranger costumes. Derek was by the horses, absentmindedly stroking one’s neck, as Peter and Boyd made last-minute adjustments. Stiles exchanged an exasperated glance with Erica. It felt a bit better sharing the pain.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted District 6 enter the area. Lydia and Isaac were wearing sleek silver outfits, he assumed in reference to the trains’ outer shells, and her hair was in an elegant high ponytail while his was slicked flat. Now that Stiles could see them off the television screen, he could tell that Isaac was actually a few years younger than he had previously thought, and that Lydia was more beautiful than ever.

Wait. No. Focus, Stiles.

She was talking sternly with the young man beside her. He was most definitely Capital, with an air of superiority that rivaled even that of the president himself, or so it seemed. He escorted Lydia to their chariot, a dark-skinned woman with Isaac closely behind. They looked just about as unhappy as Erica and he were. In fact, most of the tributes appeared that way, which he supposed was expected. The only ones marginally happy or, yes, excited, were the Careers. Again, totally expected.

As the stragglers rushed into the area, Derek glanced at the large clock set on the wall and ordered them onto the chariot. Erica went first, managing the steps surprisingly well in her heels, before Stiles almost slipped. He righted himself and looked back down at his mentor, who had summoned their attention with a flick of his index finger.

"Last minute advice," he began.

"We’ve been standing here ten minutes and now you wanna talk?" Stiles blurted out.

He was silenced with a glare.

"Don’t be the idiots who think they’re above catering to the crowd," Derek stated, "I don’t care how much you hate them, they’ve got to love you."

"That shouldn’t be too hard," Erica said casually, "For me, at least."

Stiles shot her a scowl.

"Yeah, don’t get cocky," Derek said dryly before pausing, "And good luck."

They exchanged nods before the mentor lifted his arms from the chariot’s edge and walked to the sidelines by the large flat-screens. They lurched forward mere moments later, causing him to grab onto the edge hastily as Erica just smirked. Stiles quickly let go, forcing himself to stand straight and tall, suddenly all too aware that he’d soon be on television again. He remembered his earlier horror as he glanced at his red coated skin warily. It almost made him panic once more, until he caught a glimpse of strawberry blonde four chariots ahead.

He could barely make her out, but it was as though the mere thought of her green eyes and steady gaze calmed him. It was a ridiculous thought, he’d never spoken a word with the girl, but it was true nonetheless. Even as they crossed the threshold into the stadium, Stiles felt… okay? Still, his heart was pounding unimaginably loudly as the audience, which had been clapping somewhat for District 9, stopped altogether at the sight of him and Erica.

They exchanged terrified glances before the onlookers’ shock seemed to disappear, and there came a thunderous roar of cheering. Without a thought, Stiles laughed aloud and bumped Erica’s arm in excitement. Later he would look back in almost disgust that he was so ecstatic at having earned the Capitol people’s approval, but at that moment he was only thinking of how this could save their lives. He lifted his right arm into the air, a nearly genuine grin on his face, only faltering when he first spotted the bright colored faces up close.

Erica caught a flower, which she held to her nose gratefully, and was quickly thrown several more. She handed two to Stiles and he followed suit, but was instantly taken aback by the sickly sweet scent. It was entirely different than any flower he had smelled at home. It seemed with each passing second, he was becoming less and less excited.

But he kept smiling, and raising his arm victoriously, and catching the Capitol-engineered roses, because that’s what he had to do. Eventually, all twelve chariots stopped in a semi-circle around the large raised platform where President Gerard and the other high-up government officials sat. There were a few congratulatory remarks, during which Stiles struggled to keep his smile, before the chariots moved into the area beneath the Training Center building.

As soon as they stopped moving, Stiles tossed his flowers onto the ground and hopped off the chariot, purposely landing on the roses. It felt a tiny bit childish, yet he couldn’t deny the feeling of triumph as well. Erica was right behind him and it only took them a few seconds to realize that Derek, Peter, and the others had not yet finished traveling to the next building. Stiles instantly saw a chance to get his plan working.

He glanced around the area before finding the District 6 tributes standing by their chariot. After telling Erica that he’d be back soon, earning a suspicious raise of an eyebrow, he made his way over to the duo.

"I don’t think that went too well," Isaac was saying, his arms crossed as he leaned against the chariot.

"It’s probably the hair," Lydia replied, hastily carding her fingers through his curls until they were free from the gel.

She abruptly stopped the motion upon noticing his arrival and stared him down not too kindly.

"Hi, uh, I’m Stiles," he began, awkward as ever, "from District 10. I, well, I have proposal for you, I guess. I realize this is a bit quick, but I was thinking that we form an alliance."

There was a pause during which Lydia and Isaac exchanged a glance.

"You haven’t even seen either of our skills, and more importantly we haven’t seen yours," Lydia stated.

"I know, I know," he countered, "I’m not looking for a definite answer right now, but I just want you to think about it. And then, you know, we can discuss it… or something."

"What do you think, Lyd?" Isaac asked, a hint of mock in his tone, "Can we trust this guy?"

"Well, I guess it can’t hurt to just think about it," she sighed, "and this is both of us, of course. Any alliance I’m in, Isaac is too."

"Right, yeah, of course," Stiles agreed, "And Erica."

She nodded, scanning him up and down doubtfully, just as the Capitol people he had seen with her and Isaac earlier approached them.

"What are you doing here, 10?" the man demanded.

"Calm down, Jackson, Stiles here is just being friendly," Lydia interrupted breezily.

"Well, Peter’s stunt with the fake blood sure did make him a person to watch," the dark-skinned woman stated heatedly.

Stiles was about to reply crossly when a hand roughly grabbed his upper arm and he turned to find Derek beside him.

"I’m sorry you couldn’t come up with a better idea than the usual silver theme, Braeden," the mentor spat, "but that’s really not a good reason to already hate this kid. There are plenty of others."

"Hey!" Stiles yelled, yanking his arm from Derek’s grip, "I can handle myself fine, thank you. In fact, I considered that a compliment."

"Doing a grand job as mentor yet again, I see," Jackson admonished with a smirk.

"Oh, please," Lydia snapped, "like you’re perfect at it.”

The Capitol man opened his mouth to retort just as two new people joined the group.

"Already getting into trouble, Stiles?" Morrell inquired, "I hoped it would’ve taken a bit longer."

"C’mon, sis, you’re not going to help this situation like that," the man beside her scolded good-naturedly.

"Actually we were just leaving, Deaton," Derek stated irritably before grabbing Stiles’s arm again and dragging him to the elevator.

The mentor ignored his attempts at conversation until they were on their way up, one hand holding the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he questioned angrily.

Stiles let out a huff of annoyance. He was entirely aware that the encounter had ended in disaster, and maybe it was edging towards that from the beginning anyway, but he had succeeded in planting the idea in the two tributes’ minds. At this point, he’ll take that as a win.

"I was just being diplomatic," he claimed.

"Diplomatic?" Derek repeated in disbelief.

"Yeah, you know, creating good relations with my possible enemies or… possible allies."

"Is that what you were doing?" he reprimanded, voice rising, "Trying to form an alliance with people you know next to nothing about?"

"I’m not going to get everybody’s life story in a week, what’s the difference?"

"You’ll see them all training, Stiles. You can make a good estimate about how long they’re going to survive. You don’t decide to ally yourself with a district just because you think the girl is pretty.”

"I’m not that shallow, Derek," he disputed, "There’s more to it than that."

The elevator dinged and opened, revealing the tenth floor apartment where he’d be living, but they were both still staring each other down furiously. Their fists shook with restrained rage. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Peter walked up to the door and fold his arms.

"Other people want to use the elevator, you know," he said dryly.

Derek gave a huff of exasperation before briskly heading down the hallway and into a room, slamming the door behind him. Stiles walked out and glanced around, not truly taking in the scenery. His mind was still too angry for that. Distantly, he heard the elevator ding again as its doors closed.

"Gave you quite the lecture, huh?" Peter asked.

"Where’s Erica?" he inquired, noticing her absence but also not interested in discussing his numerous frustrations with the stylist.

"In her bedroom, and I expect Morrell to join us any minute, though you did hold everybody up with that little quarrel," Peter answered, "So is he more upset about you having a plan that you didn’t talk over with him first, or the fact that it involves a pretty girl?"

"Look, I don’t know and I don’t care, okay?" Stiles replied heatedly, "None of you are going to talk to me like a normal person or even just listen to me when I speak. I’m not an idiot. I know what I’m doing, and it’s not revolving around a crush that I do not have.”

He started walking towards the hallway but stopped with Peter’s response.

"There’s a reason he’s called a mentor, you know."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, not sure about where this was going.

"He speaks from experience."

Stiles narrowed his eyes in confusion for a moment, and then widened them in sudden realization. His voice was just slightly softer than it had been for a while now as he questioned what the stylist meant. Peter only shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so sorry that it’s been such a long time since my last update and this isn’t even a particularly long chapter. It’s harder to write for a show on hiatus because I’m not hit with such a constant onslaught of feelings, but have no fear! This is still going on. Obviously. This chapter's title comes from Snow Patrol's song Disaster Button. As always, a big thank you for reading and also for any kind of feedback that I get.


	4. Reach Inside

Peter glanced down the hallway where Derek had disappeared before sitting on one of the pristinely white couches and sighing deeply.  
“It’s not a particularly happy story,” he stated dryly.  
Stiles sat on the couch diagonal from the stylist and leaned forward expectantly.  
“Tell me it anyway,” he demanded.  
He was a naturally curious person, after all, and his gut insisted Derek’s backstory was important. Stiles absolutely needed to find out, especially after Peter’s ominous comment.  
“Believe it or not, Derek is trying to protect you,” the older man informed him, “It wasn’t too long ago he was a tribute, and he also fancied a young girl from another district. Her name was Paige, a year younger than him. Didn’t get along with him very well at first, but that only made him like her more. He was different then, all charm and boyish naivety. It was only a matter of time before they fell in love.”  
Stiles bit his thumbnail anxiously, drumming the fingers of his other hand against his knee.  
“But I’m not in love with Lydia,” he stated.  
Peter smirked.  
“Right, well, these two obviously didn’t have much of a chance either. Derek thought he could protect her in the games. Not that Paige was helpless. No, she was fighter toughened up by a life of poverty in District 12. They made it to the end and were up against two remaining Careers. It came down to a battle at the Cornucopia, and each was paired up in a fight. Derek managed to kill the first but the girl was a much harder opponent. One well-aimed knife was on its way to my nephew’s heart when Paige jumped in the way. She took it right to the stomach, and of course Derek instigated a vicious attack on the Career in response. The girl went down but… Paige died in Derek’s arms. He has yet to forgive himself for what happened, and I doubt he ever will.”  
Swallowing hard, Stiles sat up straight and licked his lips.  
“Paige saved his life and it’s because of her that he won at all but,” he paused. “I understand why he wouldn’t want that to happen with Lydia and me. Even though I’m not in love with her.”  
Peter stood up, smoothing his pants casually, and gave him a pointed look.  
“Look, I don’t care if you’re in love with her or not,” the stylist stated, “but if you want to have any chance of not dying in the next couple weeks, you need to get along with Derek. You need to do what he says because, believe it or not, he knows a lot more than you do. And so do I, for that matter.”  
Stiles glared at Peter as he left the room. There was a special kind of ache accompanying the feeling of knowing that someone is absolutely right, but hating the fact with all your might. Heaving a heavy sigh and muttering under his breath, he went to the only empty bedroom left. Stiles immediately found the shower and started washing away the disgusting residue still on his skin. The water was warmer than he could ever remember having at home.  
Home. The thought of it made him stop his motions. He watched the fake blood drip off his skin and onto the tile floor, thinking how similar this was to a murderer covering up his crime. Stiles involuntarily let out a shuddering sob before promptly holding back any further sounds. He sat down gingerly, back against the water, and pressed a hand tightly over his mouth. He couldn’t stop staring at the red substance flow around him towards the drain. A thousand and one thoughts shot through his mind surrounding these dark fears but they all boiled down to a single rather childish one.  
He didn’t want to be here. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as tears began slipping out. He wanted to be in his old tiring house with his father. He wanted to go out in the grazing pastures at night with his best friend and laugh at the star-filled sky. He wanted to walk through the streets with Allison and Scott, begging them to stop flirting. He wanted to say hello to their six milking cows in the morning and mimic their long one-syllable response. He wanted everything that he would never have again, probably not even if he managed to win.  
Stiles opened his eyes warily and reached his hand up to turn the water off. He stood up shakily and let out a shuddering breath, gritting his teeth as he exited the shower. There was a chance he could have those things. The slimmest of chances that he could be home with his family again. He would do anything… anything… to make that chance a reality.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “What?” Stiles exclaimed over his plate of scrambled eggs.  
Derek sent the usual irritated glare his way while the rest of the District 10 team sitting at the long table watched the conversation with relative disinterest.  
“I said I don’t want you practicing with any weapons today,” the mentor repeated demandingly.  
“Yeah, I got that the first time you said it,” Stiles responded heatedly, “It just sounds completely insane.”  
“You and I both know you know nothing about how to fight,” Derek reasoned, “Practicing with no actual teacher isn’t going to help you. It’s just going to make you an easy target for the Careers. I can teach you how to fight during the time allotted for private training and you can go through the survival stuff while in the Training Room.”  
“I can’t believe this,” he stated in frustration, sitting back in his chair and letting his fork clang against the plate.  
“It makes perfect sense actually,” Peter added.  
“Erica doesn’t have to go through this,” Stiles argued, gesturing to the blonde who looked up from her breakfast at the mention of her name.  
“Erica already knows the basics,” Derek replied, “She can go off fine from there.”  
“This is totally biased-,”  
“Stiles,” Peter hissed, eyes narrowed.  
It was clear that the stylist was referencing the night before, how he’s supposed to be cooperating with Derek. Stiles shoved a last piece of eggs into his mouth angrily before leaving the dining room. He wasn’t going to win the argument anyway, that much was obvious. Morrell had mentioned there would be specific clothing waiting in his bedroom before she left that morning. Where she was going was a mystery, but Stiles figured she had ‘important’ Capital related things to attend to.  
Twenty minutes later, Stiles was enduring the monologue of rules in the Training Room as he fidgeted in his too-tight clothing. Erica stood beside him, already eyeing the wall of various knives. He glanced at the District 6 tributes positioned at the other side of the group. Isaac seemed to be leaning into Lydia, who had a severely bored look on her face. Once they were released to start training, Stiles watched as most of the tributes headed for the weapons before reluctantly walking towards the survival lessons.  
He busied himself with camouflage techniques and fought off the immediate instinct to approach Lydia. She was testing her knowledge of edible and inedible plants, apparently very successfully by the triumphant look on her face. The redhead was quite focused though, and Stiles didn’t want to interrupt. An eternity seemed to pass with similar activities. He couldn’t help but resent Derek just a little more for convincing him to steer clear of the weaponry.  
It was around this time that Stiles glanced up from the trap he was currently working on to find Ethan, a smug looking boy, and another equally smug looking girl standing over him. They were clearly there for him, so he licked his lips and stood up.  
“Can I help you people?” he asked not too kindly.  
“We’d like to know what your angle is,” the girl- Kali, he suddenly recalled- commanded.  
Her dark hair was ice-cut straight and her expression calm yet lethal. She was a Career from District 1 along with the other boy. What was his name? Mark? No, Matthew, but he went by Matt. Matt Daehler. He was the only one smiling, but it was one of those which was clearly hiding ulterior motive.  
“Uh, I don’t if you’re aware of this,” Stiles answered, “but we’re kind of in the Hunger Games. You know, that thing where the last thing I would want to do is tell my potential enemies my plans.”  
Ethan took a threatening step forward, prompting every instinct he had to take his own step backward. He managed to stop himself mid-step and return to his original position, but Kali was already smirking.  
“You think pulling a stunt like you did during the parade won’t get you noticed?” Ethan asked loudly.  
“Well,” he drew out the word, scratching his head nervously, “I didn’t really have much choice in that.”  
Matt rolled his eyes, laughing a bit humorlessly.  
“And then you don’t even try to use the weapons?” he added, “You’re hiding something, a talent. You want to make yourself look all dangerous and then refuse to show us what you can do.”  
Stiles couldn’t help but laugh out loud.  
“This is not where I thought this was going,” he commented.  
Kali immediately rushed forward and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.  
“You think this is a game but it’s not,” she hissed before loosening her grip and changing her tone to something a smidgen less menacing, “We’re here to win but clearly you are too. Why would you turn to District Four when you could get allies who actually have a chance?”  
Stiles licked his lips and opened his mouth, not sure what to say but trusting his usual self to spit something clever back. Yet before he could, a flash of red came between himself and Kali. Lydia pushed the Career away just enough to have an effect.  
“This looks a bit like it’s about to get aggressive,” she stated authoritatively, “I really don’t think the Gamemakers would approve of the violence starting so early, especially after all the warnings we got, don’t you think?”  
Kali made a belligerent noise, almost a growl, before stalking off with Matt on her heels. Stiles kept his eyes on Ethan who still lingered angrily.  
“We know you’re playing us,” he spat, “Don’t think you’re gonna get away with it.”  
He left after that, leaving a bewildered Stiles behind with Lydia.  
“Uh, thanks,” was the only thing that managed to escape his mouth.  
She didn’t seem impressed.  
“What are they talking about?” she asked, not quite accusatory but there was no hint of sympathy either, “What are you hiding?”  
He glanced back at the Careers and determined that they were still too close for comfort. Motioning to follow him, he sat back down on the floor by his half-finished trap, this time with his back against the weapons area. With a small sigh, Lydia joined him. Stiles met her impatient gaze and scratched the back of his head awkwardly, knowing that Derek would highly disapprove of his next words.  
“Honestly,” he began, “the only thing I’m hiding from them is how bad I am with weapons.”  
She smirked, but it was entirely different from when Kali had done the same. Lydia’s smirk was warm and pleasing. Her amusement was with him instead of at his expense. She reached over to his unfinished trap and started working on it with deft fingers.  
“Isaac and I talked about what you proposed yesterday,” Lydia told him sensibly, “We agreed it was a good idea as any.”  
“You did?” he asked with widened eyes, “That’s great!”  
She nodded slowly, giving him a curious look, as if she was trying to analyze his very thoughts. So Lydia still didn’t fully trust him, that’s okay. Expected even. To be honest, Stiles wasn’t sure why he trusted her so absolutely. But he did. He glanced back at Isaac, who was going through a rigorous archery training routine, complete with holographic attackers, and was hitting every mark nearly in the center. Somehow he trusted that guy too. Definitely less than he did Lydia, but it existed nonetheless.  
“He’s an excellent marksman, the best I know,” Lydia commented, discerning his gaze, “I’m more of the intelligence in the team and, from what I’ve noticed, you seem to have the same dynamic with Erica.”  
He laughed a bit at the accurate observation, especially as he saw the blonde throw three small knives directly into the fatal spots of the dummy. Once Stiles turned back towards Lydia, he realized that she had completed the trap and was halfway through another type. He gaped at her for a moment but hardly seemed to notice.  
“Do you think that’ll work then?” he questioned, “Two masterminds and two fighters?”  
“Someone’s a little proud,” she stated, lips curved in a mirth-filled smile, “Are you sure you qualify as a mastermind?”  
“Well, I did devise this plan, didn’t I?”  
“I suppose.”  
Stiles couldn’t help but grin widely, especially when she smiled back, albeit smaller. But maybe that was just how Lydia smiled. Small didn’t translate to meaningless, after all. As they continued working on the survival skills, this time together, he found that he was actually enjoying himself. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself. He was being prepared for a fight to the death. He was befriending someone who, if things go in his favor, will be dead in two weeks.  
No, fuck ‘befriending.’ Stiles couldn’t stop smiling at her clever words and soft sweep of red hair and quick thinking and bright green eyes. Derek and Peter were right, at least partially. If he wasn’t in love with her now, he was well on his way to.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Derek yelled.  
Stiles clutched the sword tightly in his right hand, breathing deeply from the exercise. His forehead was slick with sweat and the weapon just felt too damn heavy. His mentor, meanwhile, didn’t even look tired.  
“We’ve been at this for over an hour,” he managed to get out between breaths, “Can’t we just take a short break?”  
Derek almost looked appalled at the suggestion.  
“Do you think Ethan or Kali will let you take a break?” he spat, brandishing his own sword.  
“Oh, god,” Stiles complained, “I get it, I get it.”  
They continued practicing, with him hardly ever gaining any kind of upper hand. Derek kept giving him the same instructions but his limbs just wouldn’t listen. Physical exercise had never been his forte. Stiles had played a bit of sports back in District 10 yet could never compare to his teammates’ muscled abilities. Still, maybe he’d be faring better if he could actually focus. The back of his mind was still stuck on Lydia. A whole night and morning had passed but there was no erasing her from his thoughts.  
“What’s your problem with my District 6 alliance plan anyway?” Stiles finally blurted out, “I mean, I know you think I’m gonna fall in love with Lydia and then some kind of Paige-esque situation will ens-,”  
He hadn’t even noticed Derek was moving until it was too late. The young adult slammed Stiles into the wall of the private training room and was gripping his shoulder so tightly that the fingernails bit his skin through the shirt.  
“Do not bring her into this,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous, “She has nothing to do with what’s going on now.”  
Stiles couldn’t deny the sympathy he felt, but it had to be put to the side.  
“I think she has everything to do with it and so does Peter,” he replied tensely, “Your uncle is the one who gave me the whole story.”  
Derek laughed humorlessly and let go of Stiles, walking a couple steps away from the wall.  
“Peter gave you the whole story?” he said, “Is that what you think? Peter never tells the whole story, he says just what he thinks will make you do what he wants. He only thinks of himself.”  
Stiles blinked and licked his lips.  
“Well… what the whole story then?”  
The mentor glared at him, which was expected, before letting out an acquiescing sigh, which was quite the surprise.  
“You need to understand Peter,” Derek began, “You need to know what he did.”  
“That’s awfully ominous.”  
This earned a frustrated scoff, though he continued his story all the same.  
“Peter won the Games when he was sixteen, and there wasn’t really anything special about the way he won them. It was classic fighting and playing his cards right. It’s what he did as a victor right after that ruined everything. He actively rebelled against the Capital and made sure he was never seen happy. He never did what his escort told him, never took any caution. Years passed but he wasn’t exactly a favorite among the Capital people and no riots broke out in the Districts, so nothing really happened. Then he started hatching some kind of plot with another victor and the Capital found out. There was already a bit of controversy with the other victor that they wanted to cover up, only a few victors knew about it, so he was killed in some sort of ‘accident.’ They wanted to hold onto Peter though, probably because he was the only District 10 mentor left. The other one had died of actual natural causes two years before. Heart attack or something. Anyway… the president had a different punishment in mind for him. Back when I was a teenager, I was Peter’s favorite nephew, I guess because he wasn’t actually that much older than me. Not in the scheme of things, it seemed. I was fifteen…”  
Derek’s jaw tensed, clearly gritting his teeth, before he spoke again. His voice was softer this time, though the difference was barely noticeable.  
“If you don’t think that the Capital can fix the Reapings if they want to, then you’re pretty damn naïve,” he stated.  
“What?” Stiles exclaimed.  
“They didn’t expect me to survive,” Derek continued, ignoring him completely, “The odds of two people from the same family just seemed too high. Peter was shaken by it at first, but it didn’t last, especially after I won. He was cautious but not as much as he should’ve been. In fact, he shouldn’t have done anything at all. But he kept plotting, kept defying them, and it was only a matter of time. You can probably guess what happened next.”  
He swallowed and nodded.  
“The fire,” he said quietly.  
Derek was turned away from Stiles, arms crossed and head down. His hands were fisted in the material of his shirt, fingers turning white from the pressure. Stiles shouldn’t have pressed this, shouldn’t have asked, but he had wanted to know. No, he had needed to know.  
“Their deaths devastated both of us, and the Capital was so fucking happy that they had broken Peter. He stopped any outright defiance and became the perfect victor they had always wanted, but the president still didn’t trust him. He wanted to keep him close, so he forced him to live in the Capital and act as the District 10 stylist. There… that’s the whole story.”  
Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still gripping the sword’s hilt. What could he say? What words could make this situation better? Should he apologize? No, that’s not right.  
“Dere-,”  
“Let’s just get back to practice.”  
So they did, somehow quickly falling into the same routine as before. And if Stiles was just a little faster, just a little more determined and focused, Derek didn’t say anything.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stiles was so close to achieving perfection, he could almost taste it. From beside him, Lydia watched in amusement as he tested his newly acquired knowledge of plant life. They had immediately joined up once the day’s training session had started and, having memorized everything else already, she agreed to help him on this particular topic. He groaned at the red light which instantly shone as he picked his final answer.  
“I was so close,” he whined, “One more time and I’ve got it.”  
“You better,” Lydia replied, “We’ve wasted enough time on this as it is.”  
“Oh, are you planning on trying some weapons?” he asked.  
She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.  
“I don’t think so. Jackson gave me the same advice Derek gave to you, actually. He taught me some fighting yesterday, which is hopefully all I’ll need.”  
“Is he a good mentor then?” Stiles inquired, lightly scratching his temple, “I mean, what does he think about our plan?”  
“Oh, Jackson’s not my mentor, he’s my stylist,” she corrected lightly, leaning against the camouflage table and dipping her index finger in the paint, “Isaac and I don’t even bother trying with our real mentor, and Jackson has been dealing with it for a couple years now. The guy is a morphling. He’s been addicted basically ever since he won the Games and doesn’t care enough about us to help.”  
“God, I’m sorry, Lydia,” he said softly.  
She picked up a paintbrush and started drawing grey patterns on her left hand. Stiles couldn’t tell if it was some kind of nervous habit or she was just passing the time, but something told him it was the latter.  
“It’s fine,” she replied casually, “Jackson’s not too bad. He acts tough but he’s a sweetie deep down. I don’t think many Capital people know how to fight the way he does. He can execute all the proper techniques perfectly yet he must be self-taught in order to help the tributes.”  
“That is pretty weird, actually,” he mumbled, filing the information away for later.  
Lydia merely shrugged, now focused on tracing intricate silver lines all over the top of her hand and wrist. Somehow, it all seemed to look in sync, and he found himself smiling again. It was these little things that seemed to drive the metaphorical arrow deeper into his chest. The careful way her hand moved as she painted, the way her bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly when she concentrated.  
“What are you doing?” Stiles finally had to ask.  
“Painting,” she replied simply.  
“Yeah, but why?”  
She rolled her eyes and looked up at him, directly catching his gaze. Their eyes lingered on each other’s for just a second longer than normal before pulling away.  
“I guess I just like painting nothing in particular,” Lydia answered nonchalantly.  
For reasons unbeknownst to him, this struck Stiles as absolutely beautiful.  
“You know, we have to show the Gamemakers our talent tomorrow,” she brought up, an edge of unease in her voice, “and then it’s the interviews. We need to figure a few things out before going into the arena.”  
He nodded morosely.  
“Yeah, I guess we do.”  
“Meet me on the roof tonight,” Lydia commanded abruptly, “People can’t overhear us there.”  
“Oh, uh, right, yeah, of course,” he stumbled, trying to get over the sudden shock to his system, “should I bring Erica?”  
Her face scrunched up in confusion.  
“No,” she answered.  
It was as if she was wondering why he would even consider bringing her, but weren’t they going to talk about plans that included Erica and Isaac? The bubble of anxiety inside his chest swelled. Well, maybe Lydia just assumed that, as the masterminds, they would figure out all the planning.  
“You can always relay any information to her back in your apartment,” she continued.  
Of course, that was it. Everything was fine, it was normal. It was just an alliance being formed. Everybody knew alliances were useful in the Games. That’s what they were doing, trying to survive. Lydia wanted to go home to her family and Stiles wanted to go home to his. That’s what this all boiled down to. It was only mutual assistance in winning so at least a Career won’t be victor this year. Nothing else was going to happen, no matter what Stiles felt.  
Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been awhile. Terribly sorry about that, I'm a horrible updater, I know. Hopefully this will make up for it since it's twice as long as my last update. A lot of things are uncovered in this chapter and finally some true Stydia scenes so I hope everybody is happy! The title comes from Imagine Dragons's song Bleeding Out, which is a great listen indeed. Anyway, as always, any feedback would be absolutely lovely. All my love to those who have reviewed or anybody who takes the time to read this. Thanks!


	5. I Let You Down

Stiles felt like he couldn’t breathe, but for once it wasn’t out of fear. Or at least, not fear of his life or something along those lines. No, it was fear of, oh god, what was he going to say and what was she going to say and why did she tell him to meet her in private? Oh god, breathe. Breathe, buddy, c’mon.  
He watched anxiously as the digital number displayed above the elevator doors steadily rose to the top. He had felt this nervousness ever since Lydia had first suggested roof meeting, but it had gotten more severe as the hours passed. Stiles could barely make it through dinner. The other members of the District 10 team had probably noticed his distracted demeanor, but they didn’t mention it, not even Derek. He had to keep reminding himself that this was all business, all planning. It was a really serious life-or-death thing. He needed to stop feeling like he was going out on a date.  
Damn it. Like that was gonna happen.  
As the doors opened to reveal the gardened rooftop, he finally took a deep breath and walked through. The area was lit in a soft low glow of yellow light with greenery and blossoms sprouting from every flowerbed and terrace. When he found Lydia sitting by the building’s edge just as she turned around, red waves blowing from a slight breeze and full lips curved into a smile, the whole atmosphere became the absolute epitome of beautiful. Stiles forgot that he was in the Capital, because how could such a cruel place be capable of this? He quickly joined her on the ground, crossing his legs so that his left knee just brushed her right one. They didn’t even exchange greetings, their smiles were enough.  
“So I was thinking the first thing we needed to figure out is how to meet up at the start of the Games,” Lydia began casually.  
He nodded enthusiastically.  
“Avoiding the Cornucopia is a must, right?” he replied.  
“Definitely, but if you pass something on your way to safety, you might as well grab it,” she stated, “We’ll need all the help we can get.”  
“There’s still no way to guarantee we all find each other by chance in the arena,” Stiles brought up, “If we’re placed on opposite sides of the Cornucopia then definitely get in a fight with somebody if we run across the whole clearing.”  
“So we need a meeting place,” she concluded, “But we have no idea what the arena will look like.”  
He bit his lip and shook his head slightly.  
“There are things the arena always has though, like the Cornucopia,” he stated, “A water source, that’s something we always need to have. I mean, I guess it’s not 100% reliable but it’s better than nothing, right?”  
Lydia tapped her index finger on her lips a few times, raising an eyebrow a smidgen.  
“So we all scatter into the safe area and find our way to a water source, a lake or a creek,” she responded, “What if there’s more than one but we don’t realize and end up being separated waiting for the other people to show up?”  
“Well…” he sighed, “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like we have other options.”  
“True,” she mumbled, turning her gaze onto the city below, “I guess we should figure out… uh… you know, when we split up.”  
Stiles snapped his eyes back to her face and let out a shaky breath.  
“Right,” he answered, “I guess we should.”  
Lydia refused to look away from the skyline.  
“Maybe when there are four other people left?” she suggested weakly.  
“Four people besides the four of us?” he clarified.  
She nodded.  
“That sounds fine.”  
One for each of them. That’s what he was really thinking, and he knew she must be thinking it too. They would split up and hopefully no one would have to kill each other. Of course, that’s assuming nobody in the alliance dies up until then. Stiles swallowed and coughed awkwardly, trying hard not to think about it anymore.  
Several moments of silence followed, and he realized that there wasn’t really anything else to discuss. Nothing else could truly be planned, which made this whole ‘meet on the roof for a private discussion’ thing seem a little much. Of course, it was important that nobody overhear where they would be meeting, especially the Careers. But still…  
“Lydi-,”  
“This is a business venture, you know,” she interrupted, finally looking at him again.  
“Yeah,” he returned quickly, “Yeah, I know.”  
“Absolutely no attachments,” she emphasized, with a slight hand motion, “They wouldn’t end well.”  
“Right, I completely agree,” he answered, not even lying, “It’s totally expected and okay that you don’t trust me.”  
“Who said I didn’t trust you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.  
“Uh…” Stiles swallowed nervously, “I just assumed…”  
“I really have no choice but to trust you,” she explained, “So I do.”  
He nodded slowly, leaning forward ever so slightly and certainly not on purpose. If he realized what he was doing, he would’ve pulled back instantly.  
“Trust is good,” he stated quietly.  
“Stiles,” she said, “I promised my mother I’d go back to her.”  
“And I promised my family I’d try to win,” he told her.  
“We both know attachments are bad,” Lydia voiced gently, “Best case scenario, one of us will die.”  
Her eye looked even greener in this light, so soft around the edges but a bright color all the same. She looked at him as if she was pleading, and he realized that she was.  
“Lydia,” he said, smiling faintly, “I know. Believe me, I know.”  
“I’m not going to like you,” she stated matter-of-factly.  
Stiles couldn’t help but laugh a bit.  
“You’re not going to like me?” he repeated, “How do you feel about me right now?”  
“I’m sort of mad at you right now, actually,” she told him wistfully.  
“What?” he exclaimed with a laugh, “What did I do?”  
“Stop laughing,” she commanded, starting to giggle herself, “Stop it, this is serious.”  
“I’m sorry, I know, I know.”  
They stared at each other for a minute or so, mouths twisted into smiles which barely suppressed laughter.  
“I guess, uh, I guess we should go, huh?” Stiles suggested, though it nearly hurt to do so.  
“Probably,” she agreed, standing up and smoothing the fabric on her legs.  
He joined her and they walked quietly side by side to the elevator doors. This somehow comfortable silence continued until the doors opened on the tenth floor.  
“See ya tomorrow,” he whispered with a soft smile.  
She returned the gesture but didn’t say a goodbye aloud. Her miniscule grin seemed to say it all. It felt like regret, confusion, and determination all rolled into one expression. Stiles watched the doors close and continued staring at them for several moments after, trying to turn over in his head what had just happened.  
“Way to go, Stilinski,” a jeering voice said suddenly.  
He cursed and whipped around to see Erica leaning against the kitchen counter. She took a sip out of a mug while fully displaying a smirk.  
“Jesus, you could give a guy a warning before doing that,” he exclaimed.  
She raised her eyebrows mockingly.  
“So what’s going on with you and District 6?” she asked.  
“We formed an alliance with them,” he stated, already gesturing wildly, “Lydia and I were just discussing the finer points of it.”  
“Mmhm,” she replied, “And when were you planning on telling me about this?”  
He tapped the tips of his fingers together anxiously.  
“Right… now?”  
“Okay,” Erica responded coolly, “Do tell.”  
And so he did. She listened with relative interest, drinking decaf coffee from her mug every now and then. At the end of his fairly short explanation, she looked at him intently and made an affirmative noise.  
“Sounds good to me,” she told him.  
“Really? Okay. Awesome, that’s good.”  
“But I do think you’re kinda screwing yourself over by hanging out with Lydia all the time,” she continued, setting her mug into the sink, “You’re gonna get attached and then you’re gonna hate yourself.”  
Stiles let out a frustrated sigh and lifted his arms into the air.  
“Can everybody just calm down about this?” he yelled, “Everything is going to be fine.”  
“Yeah,” she replied sarcastically, “sure it is.”  
He watched her go back to her bedroom before groaning and resting his forehead against the nearest wall. Oh god, he was so fucked.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m going to do,” Erica stated before taking a large bite out of an outrageously red apple.  
Stiles was bearing yet another discussion over breakfast, though the actual meal was nearing its end. Morrell had disappeared yet again and Boyd was apparently slaving over Erica’s interview dress. Peter didn’t seem to be as committed to his outfit-making as he was to being a pseudo-mentor.  
“You’ve been practicing, right?” Derek asked, “You hit every target?”  
“Only the targets I like,” she mocked.  
“Erica,”  
“Yes,” she sighed dramatically, “every single one.”  
“Alright, we need a plan for Stiles,” Derek stated matter-of-factly.  
“Why have we waited until now to make these plans?” Stiles asked critically, “It’s not like I’ll get a good score with my survival skills. ‘Oh man, did you see the fire that guy just made? Smack him with an eleven!’”  
Peter rolled his eyes.  
“It’s not like we have a lot of choices,” he said dryly.  
“You’re gonna have him use a sword?” Erica questioned, “How’s that gonna go, exactly?”  
“Not well,” Derek mumbled.  
“Hey, you said I was getting pretty good,” Stiles exclaimed.  
“Good as in you’ll hold up in a fight but it won’t get you a good score at all compared to the swordplay of the Careers,” the mentor replied.  
Stiles sat back in his chair, trying to think of options.  
“I guess same thing goes for the hand-to-hand combat,” he mumbled dejectedly.  
They all nodded somberly. He bit his lip and tapped his fingers against the table incessantly as he badgered his mind for ideas. Suddenly he sat up and leaned forward.  
“I never told you this, did I?” he began urgently, “It might be important.”  
“What, Stiles?” Derek pressed with a huff of annoyance.  
Licking his lips, he began his explanation with expressive hands.  
“The first day in the training room, the Careers came up to me. Ethan, Kali, and Matt, that is. I almost entirely blame Peter for this, by the way, but they were pretty pissed at me. They thought I was hiding some special talent from them by staying in the survival skills area.”  
“Why the hell would they think that?” Erica inquired.  
“See, that’s why I blame Peter. I believe the exact words were ‘the stunt you did during the parade.’ And get this, they even wanted me to join their alliance.”  
“Oh god, and you said no, didn’t you?” Erica questioned irritably.  
“I really don’t need your input right now, and it’s not like you were invited into that one.”  
“So you did say no?” Peter asked, seemingly in shock.  
“Oh, c’mon, it’s not like I could trust those guys,” Stiles reasoned.  
“Then what’s your point?” Derek demanded.  
“Well, first of all, I just figured that was information you’d like to know- god- and second of all,” he dropped his sarcastic tone and took a deep breath, “I’ve got an idea, I just don’t think you’re going to like it.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Stiles wringed his hands together as his leg bounced up and down anxiously. The girl from District 4 had just left, the last of the Careers, and he thought the atmosphere might feel a bit less tense. He was wrong. Still, it was clear that Lydia now felt comfortable enough to lean forward and grasp his hand. She and Isaac had chosen seats across from him and Erica, and that at least gave him small comfort.  
“You’re gonna be fine, Stiles,” she whispered, “There’s not much you can do about what’s going to happen in there.”  
He met her consoling eyes, wisps of red hair that had sprung from her ponytail falling over them, and had to grit his teeth in order to prevent telling her everything. Instead, he forced himself to still his leg and gave her a smile and a small nod. She squeezed his hand lightly before letting go and leaning back. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Isaac give her a curious look. He couldn’t tell if it was negative or not, but he didn’t have it in him to care.  
Time passed. Isaac left and soon after, Lydia did too. He had squeezed her hand as well, taking it lightly as she walked by him towards the door. She met his gaze then too, but didn’t smile. Three more districts went before his name was finally called. Taking a deep breath, he stood up.  
“Good luck,” Erica told him, sounding the most sincere he had ever heard from her.  
He nodded gratefully and headed towards the door.  
“You’re gonna need it.” This was decidedly less sincere.  
Stiles didn’t bother acknowledging this last comment before entering the training room. His heart was thumping unbelievably loudly. The Gamemakers were milling about in a room placed in the upper corner of the space. Most were watching him. All were eating and drinking. He stood at a spot which he deemed close enough to the Gamemakers and licked his lips. If his heartbeat felt loud before, it was earsplitting now.  
“Stiles Stilinski, District 10,” he stated, clear and confident, just like he had practiced, “As this is the Hunger Games, I know I’m supposed to show you my greatest skill right now. However, that is the same reason why I must protect my skills until they will actually be of use. I don’t trust you not to use my skills against me. I don’t mean to insult you, of course, I’m just doing what I think is best for me. Thank you.”  
He nodded a bit before turning to leave, trying to ignore the gasps of the Gamemakers. Some of them stood up in shock and watched him leave with wide eyes. Stiles couldn’t breathe until he closed the exit door behind him.  
Hours later, Stiles was curled up in the corner of the long couch, clutching a pillow to his chest in anxiety. Erica sat beside him, clearly feeling more casual about the day. Derek and Boyd were next to her while Peter was seated in the loveseat by himself. They were waiting for the weather to be over and the scores to be announced. It seemed strange that something as normal as a weather prediction would be on TV here, but he supposed that even the Capital was concerned with rainy days.  
Morrell entered the apartment and walked straight to where the rest of them were, a small smile on her face. She hadn’t even been at dinner this time.  
“I heard you didn’t show anything to the Gamemakers today,” she said smoothly, “That’s going to make a lot of people angry.”  
“Um, okay, yeah, thanks,” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  
Morrell didn’t say anything else. She just sat next to Peter and joined them in the wait. The scores began soon after that, though, with Matt and Kali both receiving nines. The other Careers got similar numbers, Ethan even got a ten. Once the regular tributes’ began being announced, the scores dropped. Fours, fives, and sixes seemed most common, though there were higher ones once in a while. Isaac received an eight, probably for his archery skills. Lydia only got a six, but Stiles assumed as much. The Gamemakers didn’t value her intelligence as much as they should.  
The room tensed as the girl from District 9 was announced and her number given. It was a four, and it didn’t make him feel very good about what was next.  
“Stiles Stilinski, District 10,” Finstock stated, “A score of ten! Can you believe that? I knew this guy would have some surprises.”  
He immediately dropped the pillow at the announcement and sat up straight in shock.  
“Hey,” Erica said, genuinely pleased as she nudged his shoulder, “Your insane plan actually worked.”  
Stiles laughed and shook his head in disbelief. Peter looked smug in his happiness, but the others just looked pleasantly surprised. Except for Derek, who looked confused, which honestly sort of offended Stiles. If he didn’t think the plan would work, then why did he let him do it? And anyway, it worked perfectly. Just… just perfectly. Yeah.  
Erica received an eight, which was mildly celebrated. It was what they expected with her knife-throwing skills. The rest of the tributes were the same as the others and the scores were soon over. It wasn’t too late, though, and so they stayed up. Erica went to the kitchen for some snacks while Morrell brought her, Peter, and Boyd drinks. Derek , now looking more troubled than confused, seemed to be heading for his bedroom. Stiles frowned and went after him.  
“What are you doing, we’re gonna celebrate my ingenious success,” he stated, stopping Derek right at his door.  
“You don’t get it, do you?” he spat, voice low and angry.  
“Obviously not.”  
“That plan of yours was supposed to get you a five or six, maybe even a seven. It was supposed to give you a chance at some sponsors.”  
“And it did better than that, what’s the problem?”  
“The problem is that this means they think you’re dangerous. They wouldn’t give you such a high score if they didn’t. They think you’re rebellious and a threat, and they’re gonna try to get rid of you. Not only that, the Careers are going to be even angrier than they were before. They’re going to target you in the arena. Not to mention, this is putting Erica in danger too. In fact, it’ll put that whole alliance of yours in danger.”  
Stiles couldn’t breathe again. He didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because Derek slammed the bedroom door in his face. He ran a shaking hand through his hair as he tried to think this through. He wanted Derek to be wrong more than anything, but he wasn’t. He so clearly wasn’t. Stiles turned and saw Peter’s arrogant smile as he sipped from a wine glass. Derek always said not to trust Peter, and with what he had told Stiles, it made sense. But now it made even more sense. Peter’s constant rebellions had reaped Derek into the Hunger Games and then killed the rest of the Hales. It had put everyone he loved in danger. And now Stiles had done the same thing.  
He all but ran into his own bedroom, breaths coming in short and harsh, and threw off his outer layer of clothing. He needed to sleep, he needed to forget. After slamming his hand against the light switches and plunging the room into darkness, he collapsed onto the bed and curled the blankets around himself. He buried his head into the too full pillow and found himself crying.  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he rasped, “I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry, Scott. I broke my promise. Oh god, I broke it. I’m sorry, Melissa.”  
Stiles couldn’t stop whispering these apologies, convinced that he had destroyed any chance of returning home. Hands gripping his hair, he kept saying them softly into the pillow until he fell asleep, once last regret falling from his lips.  
“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so so sorry.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Stiles leaned against the wall, fingering the smooth material of his suit. He eyed the line ahead of him with relative disinterest. Though almost a whole day had passed since the night before, he still felt just as horribly crappy and devastated. It didn’t help that the day had been spent talking about how to act for this interview. Excited and confident, that was supposed to be him. What a fucking lie.  
“Chin up, Stiles,” Erica told him, slightly condescending, “I don’t want you chasing away any sponsors with your depression.”  
“Sorry,” he replied, dripping sarcasm, “I’ll try to hold it back.”  
She rolled her eyes and turned back towards the front of the line. Stiles was vaguely annoyed that she was taller than him today with the incredibly high white heels on her feet. Boyd had her dressed in a tight ivory strapless mini-dress with silver jewels adorning the bodice. Her blonde hair was curled in ringlets which fell across her shoulder blades and around her face. Meanwhile, Peter had kept with the theme from the Tribute Parade and put him in a suit which he called ‘ox blood.’ So basically, it was dark red.  
Just then, Lydia left the line and approached him. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her. Jackson had designed a silvery blue gown, so simple in concept but absolutely stunning in reality. Long silver chains dangled from her ears and fastened her hair back so it only fell behind her. Lydia’s beauty was so inherent that it scarcely needed anything extra. At the moment, however, her expression wasn’t particularly happy.  
“How the hell did you get that ten?” she whisper-demanded.  
“I-I’m so sorry, Lydia,” he stuttered, “I’ve made everything worse, I complicated everything, and I don’t know what to do now, I’m sorry, I-,”  
“Hey,” she interrupted, taking his hand. At some point, her expression had changed to one of concern. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but we’ll make it work. You’re probably just blowing things out of proportion.”  
“No, Ly-,”  
“Lydia!” Jackson called, arms gesturing, “What are you doing?”  
She rolled her eyes and gave him an apologetic smile before walking away.  
“Can’t I have one second without you hanging all over me?” he heard her question Jackson.  
Stiles laughed and leaned back against the wall, catching Erica’s amused smirk in his peripheral vision.  
“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled, unable to keep a grin from his face.  
The line moved up steadily and Stiles only barely paid attention to the show. There were several flat screens along the wall displaying the interviews, but he frankly just didn’t care, until Lydia’s of course. Hers he watched closely and was relieved that it went without a hitch. She was flawless at these sorts of things. It was clear that she knew how to please and still get her point across.  
“The scoring system just isn’t accurate,” she had stated nonchalantly, “The Capital needs to their smartest people together and work on it, because it clearly needs work.”  
“Well, we’ve had that system for sixty-three years,” Finstock had laughed, “I think it works perfectly fine!”  
“You work in the entertainment business, Mr. Finstock,” she replied, “I don’t think your opinion has much weight here. In District 6, the authorities took in interest in my unprecedented school scores and actually went to the effort to give me an IQ test. Turns out, I have a genius level IQ. Now, can you honestly say that my intellect deserves only a six?”  
That had earned a nervous laugh from the unsettled Finstock, and an amused shake of the head from Stiles. Isaac’s interview was typical of most of the regular tributes. His usual mop of curls had once again been slicked, much to Lydia’s chagrin, he was sure. His suit was an elegant silver color, matching his district’s usual style. It wasn’t too long before Stiles found himself at the front of the line, heart once again beating too loudly. Just before he went on, Derek came down the corridor and approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder.  
“You got this, alright?” he said, “It’s not too big of a deal now anyway. It’s for sponsors, and the only good thing that ten did was guarantee us some of those. So just stay calm, alright? Don’t complicate things.”  
“Yeah,” Stiles replied, letting out a heavy breath, “That shouldn’t be too hard.”  
Derek nodded firmly and walked away again. As he heard Bobby Finstock announce his name, he took a deep breath and walked onstage. Immediately, the blare of lights made him squint, but his eyes had plenty of time to adjust. The roar of the crowd was evident as he shook Finstock’s hand and sat on the smooth white chair. Finstock had a beaming smile, ridiculous and large to match his outfit, or so it seemed. The man’s suit was a collection of splattered colors, all bright and painful to look at. His hair went with it as well, fluffed up and dyed fuchsia. Stiles could only think of how terrible the whole ensemble looked, but maybe that was just a convenient distraction.  
“So, Mr. Stilinski, I must admit that I’ve been dying to meet you,” he began enthusiastically.  
“Well, I have no clue why,” he responded almost instantly, “I’m honestly not that interesting.”  
Oh god, what was he doing.  
“Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Finstock urged, “That ten? Unbelievable! Now I had high hopes for you but that was definitely a surprise. I just can’t wait to see what this skill is. Am I right, people?”  
The crowd roared once again.  
“Frankly, Bobby, I’m pretty interested in seeing what it is too.”  
Oh lord, shut up the hell up, Stiles.  
“You’re a funny guy! I think I like you even more, however,” His easygoing tone dropped to something almost mockingly serious. “Let’s get down to business. Why do you think you should be the victor of the 63rd Annual Hunger Games?”  
He blinked and licked his lips. Great, now he doesn’t have an instant response.  
“I don’t know,” he finally answered, “I don’t have any more right to win than the other tributes. I want to go home to my family and I promised them that I’d fight my hardest to do that, but what about the other people here? I don’t think anybody doesn’t not have a reason to win. Everybody has something to go home to, everybody has a goal. And I think saying that my reason is better than theirs would just be… disrespectful.”  
“That’s truly something to think about, Stiles,” Finstock replied, quiet but clearly still in entertainment mode, “That was an absolutely beautiful response, and it brings to mind the thing that really got me rooting for you. Now I definitely know now that your family is intensely important to you. There was a moment in your reaping that really touched my heart or… all of our hearts, I think.”  
There was a mumbling of agreement from the crowd. Meanwhile, a dark feeling of dread began inching its way around his chest.  
“When your name was called,” he continued, “a fairly young man started screaming for you, screaming to volunteer though it was obvious that he could not. Was this a brother perhaps? Do you have anything to say about this matter?”  
His eyes were wide and his breath stilled again.  
“Yeah, that was,” he swallowed hard, “My brother, of course, yeah, he was. He’s just a year older than me. I, um… you know, I told him I’d fight. If I’m going to die, it’s going to be fighting… for the people I love.”  
Finstock nodded solemnly and stood up, motioning for him to do the same. He took his wrist and held it up.  
“Stiles Stilinski, everyone!” he yelled, “A very determined young man that I expect great things from!”  
He barely heard the applauding crowd, his head was quiet and numb. He exited the stage just like he was told and seemed to run straight into Lydia. No, wait, she had run up and hugged him. Her arms were tight around him and her head rested firmly underneath his chin. Stiles eventually returned the embrace, limbs feeling stiff with the movement.  
“That was beautiful,” she whispered.  
Maybe it was, but he wasn’t going for that. He had just said the first thing that came to mind. It was 100% the truth and it ached him. Stiles imagined his family back home and how they were probably crying. But he couldn’t cry anymore. He was done with that.  
He just felt so… done.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He had gotten little sleep but did manage to eat in the morning. He knew how much he would need it. Stiles should probably be so anxious that he was shaking but it felt like all of this shit had culminated to a point where he was just… used to it. There was a decent chance this would change as soon as he entered the arena, but for now it might even be a good thing. It kept him calm through all the preparations.  
It was just before noon now, and he had already been fitted in his arena outfit. It was comfortable, thank god, just light brown pants and a black t-shirt. There were boots too, chocolate brown ones with rubber soles. At the moment, he and Erica were on their way to the hovercraft, the rest of the District 10 team by their side. When there was a fork in the hallway, Boyd led Erica one way. Stiles exchanged a glance with her, a sort of ‘see ya soon, hope you don’t die in the first ten minutes’ gesture. He went to head down the other corridor, but Morrell stepped in his way. Derek and Peter were already ahead of them.  
“You have to remember, Stiles,” she told him quietly, leaning towards him so as not to let the others hear, “The Capitol and the Careers aren’t the only people watching you.”  
“Wha-,”  
She walked away. That mysterious and wholly unhelpful woman just walked back where they came from.  
“Stiles,” Derek called impatiently.  
He swallowed and caught up with the Hales, pushing the comment to the back of his mind. He had more pressing things happening anyway, more immediate dangers. Once they reached the door which opened to the outside, Peter left for his transport. They’d meet again just before he would enter the tube into the arena. But this was the last time he’d see Derek. The mentor gripped his shoulder looked him in the eye.  
“Don’t be stupid, Stiles, you got that?” he began.  
“I-,”  
“Don’t. Say. A word. You’re supposed to have some amazing secret skill that we both know doesn’t exist, but you’ve got to keep pretending otherwise until the very end. You keep it going, you stay alive. And for the love of god, Stiles, don’t be attached. I know you’ve already formed some kind of bond with Lydia and I know you set up the alliance, but you’ve got to keep your emotions in check. Attachments make you do stupid things and the only thing you’ve got going for you is your intelligence.”  
Stiles nodded, trying to seem confident but knowing he was failing spectacularly. Derek let go of him and stood back, crossing his arms in his typical manner.  
“One last thing,” he said, “Trust me.”  
“Surprisingly, I already do,” Stiles replied.  
And that was goodbye.  
The hovercraft journey was short and uneventful. He received the tracking chip and sat uncomfortably close to enemies, but this was expected. When that ordeal was over, Stiles was led down another hallway into the room with Peter and the tube. A grey hooded jacket with dark green trim was hung on the wall which the stylist picked up.  
“Put this on,” he stated, throwing the clothing at him.  
“Why do they save this for now?” he asked, sliding an arm through a sleeve.  
The fabric was smooth and clearly waterproof, feeling light on his body despite it being extra weight.  
“Tradition, I suppose,” Peter answered with a shrug.  
Stiles zipped up the jacket and sighed, eyeing the tube nervously.  
“While you’re in there,” the stylist told him seriously, “remember all the things that the Capitol has done. Not only that, remember what they are willing to do.”  
Oh, great. Another ominous statement.  
“Right,” he replied, unsure how to respond.  
At the request of the computerized voice, he entered the tube, hands finally starting to tremble again. He locked gazes with Peter as it closed, but no expression was exchanged. It was strange, emotionless. Stiles heard his too-loud heart again as the platform began lifting. Sunlight poured in and he could suddenly see all the other tributes standing spread out in a large grassy clearing. The silver Cornucopia was diagonal from him and woods seemed to surround the area.  
No, what was that sound? He turned his head to find crashing waves on a beach along the edge of the clearing. But the sand was black. Why the hell was i-  
Oh god. Stiles whipped his head back towards the Cornucopia and lifted his gaze. There seemed to be a large mountain nestled in the forest, except he knew it wasn’t a mountain. The black sand combined with the smoke steadily rising from the top told him otherwise. A volcano. The arena was a volcanic island.  
They were so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIGH FIVE ME FOR BOTH MY LONGEST CHAPTER YET AND A RELATIVELY SHORT WAIT! So much happened here and I am incredibly pleased with the results. Thank you for reading, but feedback is always expressly desired. This chapter's title comes from Amsterdam by Imagine Dragons. I seem to keep picking songs from the same artists... well, maybe I'll change it up next time.


	6. A Wistful Silence

The countdown was dangerously close to zero and Stiles barely had enough time to compose himself and remember the plan. At the sound of the alarm, the tributes all launched into action. He followed the strategy he and Lydia had agreed upon and sprinted towards the tree line. It seemed like he had almost made it when something barreled into him.  
Flat on his back and in a slight daze, he had only a second’s notice before a fist was flying towards him. Stiles yelped and rolled over, trying desperately to recall his training with Derek. He sat up expecting the worst but saw instead the frantic expression of the District 9 girl. Hadn’t her mentor told her anything? But she was coming at him with everything and the blows were fast as lightning. He managed to deflect most of them but a few hit his sternum. Evidently, her mentor had shown her some things.  
But then came his lucky hit. A well-aimed blow sent her crashing hard onto the ground, her head impacting a stone on the edge of the clearing. She was still and, all at once, Stiles was a different kind of terrified. He glanced back at the Cornucopia to make sure no one was paying him any attention and then pressed his index finger to the pulse at her neck. It was still going steadily, prompting him to let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t kill her but… the Careers would after they find her unconscious body.  
No, that wasn’t his concern. She was trying to kill him… and she would have to die anyway if he was going to win. Plus, she had managed to obtain a bag of supplies that could mean life or death for the alliance. He couldn’t afford a second thought. Stiles grabbed the bag from the ground and dashed into the woods, following the original plan.  
He trekked in sort of an arc, turning a bit to the right every couple yards. The day seemed to be heading into early afternoon as the sun beat down through the tropical trees. He could feel himself sweating, his forehead already sticky and uncomfortable, so it was a glorious relief when he finally found a creek. Stiles immediately leaned down to taste the water, tasting it hesitantly at first to be absolutely sure nothing was wrong with it. After clarifying that it was indeed fresh, he gulped down a generous amount. Then the trek began again, this time following the stream towards the volcano. Another hour or so passed before he found a familiar face.  
“Stiles!” a welcome voice called.  
Lydia emerged from behind the brush along the stream and gave him a quick embrace. She seemed perfectly fine, not even a hair out of place, and he felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. Apparently, some part of him had begun to worry.  
“What took you so long?” she asked, adopting a tone of annoyance, “And why do you have a bag? You deliberately ignored the plan, didn’t you? You helped decide on it and clearly I’m the only one who actually followed it.”

“For your information, I was following the plan before somebody else attacked me on the way.”  
He had said it in a completely casual manner, but Lydia immediately looked concerned.  
“You stole the person’s bag?” she questioned, eyebrows furrowed, “You… killed him?”  
“Oh, no,” Stiles instantly responded, eyes widened, “No, no, she just fell unconscious and i-it was there so… I took it.”  
Lydia swallowed and nodded distractedly.  
“Well, we might as well see what’s in it,” she stated.  
They sat cross-legged amongst the large fronds of tropical foliage, almost like they had back at the Training Center, and dumped the contents onto the space between them: a pack of dried fruit, a pack of dried meat, a decent sized knife complete with a leather sheath, a roll of gauze, a canteen, and a fairly large sleeping bag. They grinned at the useful supplies, making a few comments, before Lydia got up to fill the canteen at the creek.  
The pair sat back down and began discussing what to do next, but it was another half-hour before the remaining members of their alliance finally showed up. Lydia stood up to confront them, frustration and anger evident in her expression.  
“What the hell were you two doing?” she demanded as Stiles joined her, “We had a plan for a reason and, god, look, you’re injured.”  
It was true, but only minimally. Small yet bleeding cuts were all over their forearms and Erica even had one on her cheek. Still, both teenagers were smiling.  
“Calm down, it was all worth it,” Erica told the redhead, holding up another bag of supplies, “Lookie what we got.”  
“Not to mention this,” Isaac added, displaying a sword.  
Stiles couldn’t deny the importance of these possessions and Lydia couldn’t either. Her lips twitched but refused to smile as she took the bag and inspected its insides.  
“Same as the other,” she informed as she handed it back, “Fill up the canteen while you can. We’re gonna follow this creek until we find a well-hidden shelter but we never know when trouble could show up.”  
Erica rolled her eyes, probably at being bossed around, but did as told anyway. The foursome promptly began walking towards the volcano, keeping an eye out for any potential shelter. It was mostly quiet but comments were exchanged every now and then. One such time was when Isaac and Stiles were both at the back of the group and the District 6 boy cleared his throat before speaking.  
“Here, take it,” he offered, holding out the sword.  
Stiles opened his mouth slightly in confusion before answering.  
“Why?”  
“Jackson said Derek was teaching you how to use one,” he replied, “I don’t know how so it’s kind of useless to me. Take it.”  
Stiles reluctantly did so, grasping the handle to test it out although it was still in its leather sheath.  
“Thanks,” he said genuinely, “but… how did Jackson know that?”  
Isaac blinked and paused for a moment before shrugging.  
“I don’t know.”  
The conversation seemed to end there though something about what he said still bothered Stiles. Mentors weren’t supposed to share information like that. Sure, they must have known about the alliance but why were they even talking about him? And, yeah, Jackson wasn’t even technically a mentor but the point still stands. He shook his head to himself. There was no use worrying about that now. Derek had said to trust him and he did. Sighing, he slid the sword into his backpack so only the handle stuck out. Stiles couldn’t afford to lose that trust now.  
It was at that moment that cannons began going off. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia must be over. The foursome stopped in their tracks and exchanged glances, all counting silently in their heads. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.  
“Eleven dead,” Lydia whispered.  
“Almost half of us,” Isaac muttered softly.  
Erica took a noticeably big breath and trudged forward.  
“No use dwelling on it,” she stated confidently, though Stiles thought he caught the edge of unease in her voice.  
No one vocally agreed or disagreed, but they followed her nonetheless. After all, she was right. He licked his lips nervously as the trek continued. The beginnings of evening were just starting to show when success was finally found. They had been walking around the volcano’s base for some time after the creek passed by it and the group decided to try a different approach. The choice paid off.  
Erica had been running her hand along the mountain as they walked and happened to come across a narrow crevice just large enough for them to squeeze through. The tunnel soon led to a decent-sized cave lit in the orange-red glow of a lava stream. They laughed in joy at the discovery and Isaac even picked Lydia up for a second, grin burying in her red waves. It was a better shelter than any of them had hoped for, relatively spacious and completely hidden. Well, not completely. They wanted to be absolutely sure.  
As Isaac and Lydia worked on building a fire to light the cave, the lava not nearly providing enough, Stiles and Erica strategically placed more foliage around the crevice to hide it. He twisted the thin branches into the vines already growing there, grateful that he had learned something from those days in the Training Center.  
“So…” Stiles began, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.  
“Don’t try to make small talk,” she responded dryly.  
“Right.” God, did he feel stupid. “Sorry.”  
A moment passed before he spoke again.  
“Did you kill anyone at the Cornucopia?”  
Where did that come from? Oh lord, why did he say that? The inward cringe he was experiencing was extreme. Erica instantly stopped her movements and turned to keep a steady gaze on him.  
“Would it make a difference?” she questioned, her voice containing a much softer edge than usual.  
Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips, and shook his head.  
“It was just one person,” she continued, much to his surprise, “a boy from one of the richer districts. Can’t remember which, and he wasn’t a Career, but still. I wouldn’t have done it but… he almost killed Isaac. And Isaac, he didn’t kill anybody. Not him.”  
She sighed softly before abruptly turning back to their work.  
“I think that’s enough,” Erica decided.  
The twisted branch structure did indeed seem finished. They had crafted it so that it could function as a sort-of door. To anyone who didn’t know, it looked perfectly natural. Stiles allowed himself a small smile, but his mind was still largely occupied with the information the blonde had just divulged. He had been honest when he told her it didn’t make a difference. After all, it wasn’t her fault and it didn’t make her any less good a person. He supposed it bothered him because… if he had done it, he’s not sure if he could ever let it go.  
Suddenly, a boom of music began, causing him and Erica to both jump slightly and turn towards the sky. Stiles hadn’t even realized it had gotten so dark. The blonde ran into the cave and emerged a moment later, Isaac and Lydia trailing behind. The foursome watched as the headshots of the eleven dead tributes were flashed across the night sky. Their names didn’t accompany them but only their districts. He couldn’t help but wince when he saw the tentative smile of the District 9 girl. Stiles had killed her, hadn’t he? Maybe not directly, but it was basically because of him.  
No. The Capitol killed her. Her death wasn’t his fault any more than it was Erica’s fault she had killed someone. He had to remember that.  
When the music ended and the sky returned to normal, they somberly returned to the cave and began settling for bed. Or… to sleep, that is. Lydia and Isaac’s fire was perfect, large enough to provide light but minimal enough to not cause too much heat. It was built by the lava so the group didn’t have two places to avoid in that small area. They pulled out the sleeping bags from the backpacks and discovered they were much larger than conventional ones. With a shrug and a sigh, it was decided that they could share them, Isaac with Stiles and Erica with Lydia. It was easy to fall back on that girls and boys separation.  
“I’ll take first watch,” Lydia stated matter-of-factly.  
“Are you sure?” Stiles asked casually.  
The look she gave him was almost incredulous.  
“Yeah,” she replied, her voice containing a hint of accusation.  
“Uh, okay,” he stumbled, confused by her reaction, “Just wake me up in an hour or so you can get some rest.”  
Lydia merely nodded and sat against the wall, staring distractedly at her fingers. From the other sleeping bag, Erica gave him a smirk. He shot a glare back. Why did his concern automatically mean he was falling in love with the redhead? He didn’t dote on her or anything. They were all thrust into a battle of life or death, it’d be strange if Stiles wasn’t concerned. He turned away from the girls and went to lie down, noticing that Isaac seemed to have already fallen asleep beside him, face snuggled into the fabric. Stiles couldn’t help but linger a little at the sight. He had forgotten that Isaac was younger than him, Erica, and Lydia. How old was he? Fourteen? His height largely disguised his age but there was no mistaking it in his face. Not when you really looked.  
Stiles swallowed and laid down, forcing his eyes shut and his worries away, if only for a moment. This moment seemed to end immediately as he was woken up by a light nudge to the shoulder. Hovering over him was the tired face of Lydia. Apparently he had been exhausted and fallen right asleep, so now it was his turn to be on watch.  
“Your turn,” she confirmed with a whisper.  
He merely nodded and pulled himself out of the sleeping bag, careful not to disturb Isaac. After stepping over the girls’ sleeping bag, Stiles sat down in the same spot Lydia had been and mentally prepared himself to stay awake for another hour or so. Probably a little bit more. He watched from the corner of his eye as the redhead laid down beside Erica. Silence engulfed the cave in the following minutes, the only sound being the steady crackling of the fire.  
“Stiles,” Lydia said softly.  
He hadn’t even realized she was still awake.  
“Yeah?” he answered  
She tapped her lips with her index and middle fingers, head still on the floor so that her long hair was splayed all around it.  
“We’ve been pretty lucky so far,” she stated quietly.  
The redhead wasn’t even looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling.  
“I guess so, yeah.”  
“We won’t be lucky forever.” Somehow, this was said quieter than ever.  
“I think that’s a given,” he tried to laugh but it came out sort of forced.  
She closed her eyes, the ghost of a smile on her face. Stiles waited a couple minutes for a response, but received nothing.  
“Lydia?”  
But she didn’t respond again. Either she had fallen asleep or had decided to ignore him until she did. He bit his lip and turned to look towards the entrance. Was she scared? Of course she was scared. They were all scared even if they didn’t want to admit it. And if his dumb sarcastic comments made her feel better for just a second, he would never stop making them for as long as he lived. Which, as it turned out, might not be very much longer. But still.  
It was hard to determine how much time was passing, but it felt like an eternity before Stiles felt it was okay to wake up the next watch. They hadn’t really decided on an order, so he woke up Erica just because she was older than the curly-haired boy. She was predictably annoyed but got up nonetheless, allowing Stiles to sleep the rest of the night. It was hard to tell in the cave whether it was day when he finally awoke. Their hideout was perpetually dark, lit only by the glowing fire and lava stream. It soon became clear that the night was over, though.  
Lydia was up and tending to the fire, which had died a little as they slept, and Erica was only just waking up as well. Isaac seemed to have spent his watch carving a bow from wood he had collected during their trek through the forest the day before. He had picked up many fallen branches as they walked, meticulously inspecting them before discarding most of them. Only a select few met his criteria. The bow was now sitting beside him as he carved arrows. Stiles sat next to him and watched intently.  
“Where did you get the string for the bow?” he asked finally, the curiosity getting the better of him.  
Isaac smiled crookedly.  
“I pulled some threads from my shirt until it was strong enough,” he replied smugly, “They don’t teach you that at the Training Center.”  
“Yeah, they probably should,” Stiles replied.  
“It’d be better to have actual arrowheads,” he continued, waving the arrow he was working on, “but this will work almost as well.”  
Isaac was carving the end of it to a fine point, holding it close to his eyes every few slices. Soon after, he set the arrows with his others.  
“Erica, you can have your knife back now,” he called before turning back to Stiles, “I’ll have to pick up some more branches later.”  
“That reminds me,” Stiles stated, standing up and picking up the bag he had obtained, “Lydia, you should take this.”  
He held out the knife to her and she eyed it for a second before taking it gingerly. From her cross-legged position on the ground, she closely examined it.  
“Why?” she asked, not even looking up at him.  
“Well, you’re the only one without a weapon,” he answered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’ve got the sword, Isaac has his arrows, and Erica has the other knife. I mean… did Jackson teach you how to fight?”  
She raised her eyebrows and wobbled her head back and forth, as if she was thinking it over.  
“Yeah,” Lydia mumbled, “that doesn’t mean I ever made any progress. The weapons I have aren’t of the physical kind.”  
Stiles crouched down beside and smiled nervously.  
“I know, believe me, I know,” he told her, “And I know you know that you’re gonna need that knife anyway.”  
She smirked.  
“I took it, didn’t I?”  
He laughed, which is something he never imagined himself doing in the middle of the Hunger Games. It came with an odd feeling indeed.  
“Could you stop the banter for a second?” Erica called, “I think we should eat a little.”  
Stiles absentmindedly clutched his stomach at the thought. He hadn’t eaten in a day, had he? The excitement of yesterday didn’t make his hunger clear, but now it was burning inside. Isaac and Lydia obviously felt the same, so they laid out the supply of dried fruit and meat they obtained from the bags.  
“Of course we should ration it,” Lydia began, “but we shouldn’t rule out the fact that we’ll find more food.”  
“Plants from the forest,” Stiles added, thinking of that test he had taken with her.  
“Or little animals,” Isaac supplied.  
In the end, they each ate only a little of the provisions. The real problem seemed to be their water. Unlike hunger, they had all experienced thirst the day before. The island was clearly tropical which meant humidity and heat. Overbearing and suffocating heat. It didn’t help that their convenient shelter was housing not one but two heat sources. The alliance collectively decided that as long as food and water held out, they would stay in the cave. But the longer they stayed, the more they wanted to drink.  
“It is too fucking hot in here,” Erica finally exclaimed, “Do we really need to be able to see each so well? Why can’t we put out the fire? I know we can’t get rid of the lava, but we have to do something.”  
The other three exchanged tentative glances.  
“It’s a good point,” Isaac conceded.  
Nodding, Lydia quickly went to work extinguishing the flame. A few minutes later, they felt the room temperature lower ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Almost a full day went by in this manner. The foursome sat around and chatted about meaningless things. Dumb stories from back home, usually school related. Isaac and Lydia regaled them with what it was like in District 6 and Erica and Stiles returned the favor. The two from District 10 told double-sided tales of the antics their classmates got up to.  
“It’s usually Stiles, actually,” Erica stated with a sly grin.  
He gasped in false shock.  
“I can’t believe you would accuse me like that,” he replied strongly, “Scott is involved just as much.”  
“Everyone knows you’re the one who plans it all, though,” she laughed.  
He was about to deny it again, reveling in the happiness on their faces, when everything seemed to still with one question.  
“Scott’s your brother, right?” Isaac asked.  
It was clear he meant it as simple clarification. He was almost positive but wanted to make sure he knew who they were talking about. Still, the smiles on Stiles’s and Erica’s faces evaporated. Lydia’s faltered soon after and, at the reaction, Isaac’s followed.  
“I said that during the interview, didn’t I?” Stiles managed to get out.  
Isaac nodded, looking terrified. For a brief second, he wondered why. He can understand a little scared, but this was several levels above that. However, the second soon passed and he was mumbling out an answer.  
“That wasn’t really, uh, 100% true,” Stiles said quietly with a sad smile, “Scott has been my best friend since… well, I can’t remember a time he hasn’t been my best friend. We’re brothers in every way but blood, really. His dad died when we were just babies and my mom passed when we were still pretty young so our parents basically raised us together, even though we still live separately.”  
“Do you think he’s watching this?” Lydia asked softly, staring off to the distance in thought.  
He swallowed and shrugged lightly.  
“Part of me wants him to stay away from the TV,” he answered, “I want them all to stay away, to not see this stuff. But… I know they would never do that, especially Scott. Poor Melissa probably has a hard time forcing him to take care of himself. Shit, I bet she just heard me call her Melissa.” He laughed, despite it all, and raised his voice slightly. “I’m sorry, Ms. McCall! And Scott, take this as an order to eat something or get some sleep or do whatever it is you should be doing.”  
He sighed and bit his lip, before realizing Isaac was staring at him thoughtfully. Stiles didn’t say anything more, just met his gaze.  
“You were wrong, you know,” the younger boy stated quietly.  
“About what?” he replied in confusion.  
Isaac licked his lips.  
“During your interview, you said that everybody has something to go home to.” He shook his head slowly and looked away. “I don’t have anything in District 6. I don’t have any reason to win.”  
Before Stiles could even try to respond, Lydia made an anguished noise and quickly made her way to his side. Erica exchanged a somber glance with Stiles as the redhead curled around Isaac. She rested her forehead against his temple and gripped her hands firmly in his shirt’s front.  
“You have plenty of reasons to go back home, Isaac,” she whispered urgently, “Even if the only family you have left is your deadbeat father, you have a right to survive and live. Live, Isaac, just to show him that you can.”  
Shaking, he embraced her tightly and buried his head into the nape of her neck. All at once, Stiles felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He closed his eyes and was surprised to find that he had begun to cry slightly. A moment later, Erica came to his side. She took his hand, squeezing it tightly, and he promptly returned the gesture. Their hands stayed clutched as they leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together.  
He could hear Isaac’s muffled sobs, Lydia’s comforting whispers, and Erica’s trembling breath, but mostly he heard those particular words which echoed continually in his mind.  
Live… just to show them that you can.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“We need to go on a water trip,” Stiles stated, holding up the two empty canteens.  
It was morning. The only time they had left the cave was to watch the sky the night before. Only one tribute had died, the boy from District 9.  
“Have you ever thought about the fact that there are six Careers are only four of us?” Erica had pointed out before they went to sleep that night.  
“Thanks, Erica, I really needed that reminded,” Stiles had replied, voice dripping in sarcasm.  
“And have you realized there’s only one person left who isn’t a Career besides us?” she persisted.  
“Erica, please go to sleep,” Isaac mumbled into the side of the sleeping bag.  
But it was a strange thought, and nobody was really sure if it meant anything. Stiles knew one thing, though. He was glad the District 9 boy wasn’t the one left. After leaving the girl from that same district for dead, there was no way they could befriend him in a bad situation. What’s more, he wasn’t sure he could face him.  
But Stiles wasn’t thinking about that right now.  
“Should we really be leaving the shelter alone though?” Erica asked.  
“It’d be safer if we stuck together,” Lydia replied confidently, “There are only four of us. Splitting up would just weaken our chances of survival.”  
“Alright then,” the blonde responded, “we better gather up our supplies just in case.”  
“Remember, though,” the redhead continued, “if we do run into the Careers, or really anybody, you can’t lead them back here. This cave is the best thing we have going for us and it’s useless if they know we’re here.”  
Minutes later, once everything was packed up, the foursome reentered the forest. Blinking their eyes in the sunlight, they set off for the stream firmly on guard. Isaac led them, his memory proving to be the best, and it wasn’t long before they found the water. Being the best fighters, Erica and Isaac stood on watch as Lydia and Stiles filled up the canteens. The morning air was ever so slightly chilly, which was a welcomed difference to the heat they experienced yesterday, and the breeze which accompanied it made the branches rattle pleasantly.  
He was focused enough on this sound to hear the louder rustle just before Erica gripped his shoulder to pull him up. He scrambled to contain the water and close the canteen, seeing Lydia do the same in his peripheral vision, just as Matt and the two Careers from District 2 emerged from the tree line. They came from further down the stream, giving Stiles small relief that they hadn’t come from the direction of the cave.  
“Oh, look, it’s the doomed alliance,” Matt jeered as the other two snickered, “We’ve been looking for you. Just our luck that it happened on a water run.”  
The foursome exchanged panicked glances. They couldn’t run, not back to the cave at least, but… the odds were technically in their favor at the moment. Stiles drew his sword from his backpack after shoving the canteen inside it, noticing as the other readied their weapons. The air was so tense it was suffocating as everyone waited for someone to make a move. At last, the girl from District 2 released the silver arrow from her Capitol bow and Erica moved just in time for it to miss. Still, the motion launched them into battle. On instinct, Stiles immediately rushed in front of Lydia towards Matt, their swords colliding in a massive hit. He was focused entirely on the one-on-one fight, clang after clang echoing in his ears. He could only vaguely see Erica locked in combat with the District 2 boy as Isaac and Lydia tag-teamed on the girl. The boy had a knife as well and, for a split second, it seemed like he was going to hit the blonde in a vital spot. She went to block it just as a wooden arrow plunged into the side of his neck.  
A cannon went off as the girl shrieked in anguish and lunged for Isaac before being knocked to the ground by Lydia. Despite this well-aimed hit, the redhead seemed hesitant to continue the attack. Stiles couldn’t blame her, the next step would be a kill blow and even in the Games, it was hard to do. But this reluctance cost her. An arrow held firmly in her fist, the Career managed to stab Lydia’s calf before she could move away. The redhead’s pained cry caught Stiles’s attention. He recognized her voice in the yell and involuntarily turned to look. This was all Matt needed to inflict a fatal wound, but in that same millisecond Stiles was shoved to the ground by a blur of blonde waves.  
There was a soft pained gasp as Erica fell beside him, a gaping stab wound far too close to her heart. Stiles screamed, the edges of his vision darkening as he gripped his sword tightly and rushed towards Matt. He had a small smile on his face, only serving to anger him more. He tackled the Career to the ground and smashed the butt of the sword just above his temple, effectively knocking him unconscious. But Stiles knew it wasn’t enough. He stood up, finally noticing that the girl had run off in the chaos, and plunged the sword into Matt’s stomach. He didn’t think about it. Not at all. Not then.  
Instead he dropped the bloody sword and rushed back to Erica’s side. Lydia was trying to cover up the wound, to apply pressure and stop the bleeding, as Isaac simply stood beside them in shock. He fell harshly to his knees and ran a trembling hand through the hair near her face as if to give some comfort. But it was nothing. None of it mattered. She was already dead. Stiles had heard the cannon. Her chocolate brown eyes were glossed over, and he didn’t think he would ever get that image out of his head. Stiles clutched her hand just as they had the day before, feeling the warmth of her skin and willing it to stay there. Erica could never be cold. Sure, her personality and comments could on occasion seem icy, but it was never genuine. He had always associated Erica with warmth, the glow of her hair and the confidence in her gait. Plus, ever since they had boarded that Capitol train, he had looked at her and seen home.  
He didn’t realize he was sobbing until Lydia wrapped her arms gently around him. Isaac leaned down to close her eyes with a slightly shaking hand and shuddering breath. They had thought Erica was the strongest of them all, and she still was, but she was also just a girl.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
They had left her on the small shores of the creek, blonde hair spread around her head like a halo. Now the trio was back in the cave, huddled in the corner with only the faint glow of the lava surrounding them. Barely a word had been uttered since it happened. Isaac and Lydia were on either side of Stiles, practically lying on top of each other. He wasn’t sure how exactly they had come to be in that position, he just knew it helped somehow, like their emotions were all bunched together into one. He wasn’t crying with as much force as before, but there was still a steady stream of tears.  
It was odd to think about, but hadn’t they actually won that battle? If the Games were seen like a war, body count would indicate yes. The Careers went from six to four, but their alliance dwindled to three. And what did it matter anyway? In the long run, the only thing that mattered was that Erica was dead. The three remaining people were mourning her passing, were trying to handle her sudden absence. The last time Stiles could remember feeling this kind of hurt was when his mom died. Was it worse then? It should have been worse, though, because that was his mom.  
He couldn’t remember. At this point, it was hard to think past the Reaping, past the Games. It felt all-consuming.  
Erica was dead.  
But Stiles was crying for her just as much as the fact that he had just killed someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, yeah, another months-long wait. Sorry about that, but hopefully this makes up for it. It's short than the last chapter by just a smidge, but still quite long so I'm satisfied. The title comes from Sam Smith's "The Lonely Hour" which I just discovered yesterday and thought it fit quite nicely. I say this every time, but hopefully the next update won't take too long. Cross your fingers, and thanks for reading!


	7. The Light Scaring Darkness Away

Stiles had the last watch of the night. He leaned against the cave wall as he nervously bit the side of his right index finger. Scott had always said that was a weird habit, but he just never had the motivation to break it. He certainly didn’t care right now. The remaining three people in the alliance had exhausted themselves the night before and Isaac took first watch. Stiles still felt all cried out. Though he could no longer cry, there was still burning ache inside his chest. Before he had been reaped, he never thought the death of Erica Reyes would leave him so empty and distraught.  
Well, when you go through hell together, you tend to grow close quickly. That’s what he’s heard, at least, and now he had sufficient evidence.   
It was almost morning, or he assumed so. Several hours had passed. His gaze, which had previously been fixed on a random spot on the wall, slid over to where Lydia and Isaac were sleeping. They were curled up in the corner with the sleeping bags acting as blankets. The redhead didn’t want to go to bed in her sleeping bag without Erica beside her, and the two boys understood completely. The island seemed to be getting progressively warmer anyway and so the heat-conserving properties of being inside the bags weren’t needed. In fact, Lydia had moved in a way so that one of her legs was out in the open.   
Stiles straightened his posture in alarm at the sight of her badly treated wound. They had nearly forgotten about it in the hysteria after the battle. She had clearly done something with it as there was gauze wrapped around a section of her calf, but there was dried blood around the edges. Another sickly-looking substance seemed to be present as well, and although it was a very small amount, it worried him. Stiles got up and gently nudged Lydia’s shoulder until she opened her eyes groggily.  
“Stiles?” she whispered, eyeing the still sleeping Isaac beside her, “What is it? Morning?”  
“I think so, but I didn’t actually check,” he replied quietly, “I just… your leg needs to be fixed.”  
She glanced down and widened her eyes slightly at the sight of her wound.   
“Yeah, I didn’t take too long on it yesterday,” Lydia stated softly, “It was sort of the last thing on my mind.”  
“Well, it shouldn’t be. It must hurt,” he said, eyebrows furrowed in concern, “C’mon, I’ll redress it.”  
She rolled her eyes but began slowly emerging from underneath the blanket and away from Isaac.  
“I can do it myself, you know,” she told him confidently.  
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles replied, allowing a small smile, “but wouldn’t it be easier if I did it?”  
She didn’t respond but instead returned the tiny smirk as she sat against the wall and propped her leg onto his lap. He couldn’t help but laugh at the action before quickly forcing himself to sober up. It didn’t feel right. Instead, he swallowed anxiously and gently peeled the soiled bandage from her skin. Lydia winced but made no sound. She stared at him thoughtfully as he began cleaning the wound.  
“You’re not blaming yourself, are you?” she asked, “Please don’t be that stupid.”  
Stiles stopped his actions and caught her gaze, licking his lips nervously.  
“She died for me, how can I not?” he finally replied before beginning again, “I don’t understand why she didn’t just throw a knife or something. Why did she have to jump in the way?”  
There was a moment of silence before Lydia spoke.  
“It was a split-second decision, and those aren’t always the most logical,” she told him quietly, “She saw you in danger and did the first thing that popped into her head. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”  
“Of course, but…” he sighed, “It still doesn’t feel right.”  
“I know,” Lydia responded softly, “I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t hesitated to kill the other Career, then I wouldn’t have gotten hurt and distracted everyone. But I know I can’t afford to dwell on that.”  
“Erica would want us to keep fighting,” he stated as he finished wrapping up her leg.  
Lydia pulled her leg back so she could sit cross-legged and helped him put their things back into the bag. They let their hands brush against each other’s effortlessly until Stiles took hold of her wrist and rubbed it gently with his thumb for a moment. She looked at him in half confusion and half understanding. An oxymoron, he supposed, but true nonetheless. Those green eyes knew almost every fact under the sun but they were still unsure about Stiles Stilinski.  
“Get your own cave,” a sleepily groggy voice startled them, “No one wants to see you two giving each other goo-goo eyes.”  
They jumped apart and both shot the younger boy a glare.  
“Shut up, Isaac,” was the best comeback Stiles could come up with at the time.  
The day passed lazily. The three teenagers laid around the cave and tried to forget the emptiness left by a certain blonde. It was easier to focus on how miserable they were as the temperature continued to rise. They drank more water than ever, always conscious of the fact that it meant they would have to leave the safety of the cave eventually. That moment soon arrived with substantial amounts of dread. The trio moved swiftly through the trees, wanting more than anything to get the outing over with.   
They were fine that time though. The alliance crashed back into the cave with heaving breaths, their anxiety forcing their legs to go faster and their hearts to speed up. Apparently, not much happened for the other tributes as well. Not one cannon was heard and there were no faces in the sky that night. The trio didn’t know what to make of it, but they decided not to think too much about it. They fell asleep again in a huddle, this time discarding the sleeping bags entirely. The heat was almost unbearable at this point and it didn’t help that their meager food supply was dwindling. Everything was miserable, and Stiles missed Erica. The day had been strange, unsettling.  
It had been the calm before the storm.  
The following day seemed identical to the one before it at first. The teenagers talked a little but were nearly out of conversation, and their exhaustion was palpable. Despite having done very little, the heat combined with their hunger drained any energy they had.   
“We need to go out for food,” Lydia stated.  
They were all lying flat on the ground, her long hair tickling the faces of both the boys because of their closeness.   
“And water,” Isaac added, holding up a canteen and sloshing around what liquid was still inside it.  
Stiles sighed heavily and was about to speak when something caught his attention. He sat up abruptly and held his hand out to quiet the other two. Tuning into the noises outside the cave, he could hear voices. From the looks on their faces, Isaac and Lydia had heard them too. All at once, they quickly hurried as silently as possible to the wall which the entrance was on and sat flat against it. If anybody happened to glance inside, hopefully nothing of interest could be seen. Stiles gripped Lydia’s hand tightly, surely nearly hurting her, but her grip was just as strong. Isaac was on her other side and was leaning in closely to her. She was their glue at this point.  
“This is pointless, Ethan,” Kali’s sharp voice snapped, “We’ve been looking for them for over a day.”  
“What do you suggest we do?” he answered angrily, “They’re the only threats we really have left.”  
“How much of a threat are they at this point?” another Career challenged, “We already killed the blonde bitch.”  
Stiles tightened his jaw and almost got up, but Lydia gripped his hand tighter and softly stroked his skin with her thumb.  
“Yeah, and they killed two of us,” Ethan hissed back, “We can’t afford to let our guard down. We still don’t know what that Stiles kid is hiding.”  
“If he’s hiding anything,” Kali spat, “If he had some special ability, he would’ve shown it by now. Face it, he lied to get sponsors.”  
“But what about the 10?” the fourth Career questioned as their voices began to fade away.  
“Exactly,” Ethan replied, “Even if he lied, he and his alliance clearly pose a threat. We’re going to find where they’re hiding and we’re going to kill all three of them.”  
That was the last clear thing they could hear before the Careers were out of earshot. Each member of the alliance was shaking violently. Stiles had his eyes squeezed shut and his free hand over his mouth, fingernails digging into the sides of his jaw. Lydia wrapped her arms around him and buried her head into the nape of his neck.   
“What’re we going to do?” Isaac asked, his voice soft and terrified.  
“Stay inside,” Stiles responded instantly, “We can’t go out there. Not now.”  
Lydia pulled away, squeezing Isaac’s hand reassuringly before standing up.  
“We’re starving and have little water left,” she stated matter-of-factly, “I agree we can’t leave the cave today with the Careers so close, but we have to hunt tomorrow. We need food.”  
The boys nodded solemnly as she sighed. Their situation was terrifying, yes, but also frustrating. They had put off getting more supplies for too long and now they were forced to wait even longer. What if they ran into danger? They’d be too weak to fight properly. With these thoughts on their mind, nobody in the trio felt like talking. Eventually, Stiles and Lydia found themselves lying back on the floor. It felt cooler someway, even as their sweaty palms were pressed together by their sides.   
Stiles had always believed in small comforts.  
Meanwhile, Isaac was sitting against the wall and fiddling with his wooden arrows. He seemed to just be content doing something. Hours passed slowly. Their stomachs ached. The only time Stiles remembers feeling this hungry was when he was just a kid and his mom got sick. His family made just enough as it was, but then they spent as much as possible on medicine. Food wasn’t the priority, not when Claudia was dying. None of it even mattered in the end, he supposed. The problem wasn’t even the lack of money. It was the lack of medicine. The usual shipment hadn’t arrived that month, something about a similar sickness spreading through District 1 and 2. She never stood a chance.  
Stiles jumped out of his thoughts at the sound of a cannon. He and Lydia both sat up, hands slipping out of each other’s grasp absentmindedly. The trio exchanged worried glances.  
“One of the Careers?” he guessed.  
“Or the girl from 3,” Isaac added.  
“It’s no use speculating,” Lydia said with a small sigh, “We’ll find out tonight.”  
That seemed to be it. Until about twenty minutes later when the screaming started. The sound was unmistakably from far away but still crystal clear. Tortured and in pain, they weren’t from fear, especially when they wouldn’t stop.  
“What the hell is happening?” Stiles questioned with a slightly shaking voice.  
“It sounds like Meredith Walker,” Lydia whispered, biting a nail.  
“Who?” he asked, more in shock than scared at the moment.  
“The girl from 3,” Isaac supplied, “Her mentor is friends with Jackson so we saw her a little. She seemed a bit… off.”  
“For good reason,” the redhead said icily.  
The younger boy sighed and ran a trembling hand through his hair. The screaming continued, disturbing and altogether unsettling, for what felt like nearly an hour. They couldn’t be sure, but when it finally stopped it wasn’t a slow and steady decline. It was abrupt, clearly cut-off, and followed by a cannon. The trio exchanged startled, confused glances yet again.  
“What just happened?” Isaac asked.  
Lydia simply shook her head.  
“I don’t even think I want to know,” she muttered, “Something horrifying. Something just like the usual Hunger Games.”  
“Do you think…” Isaac began before pausing, licking his lips, and continuing, “Do you think we could’ve followed the sound?”  
Stiles and Lydia immediately looked at him, eyes wide in shock.  
“Technically, yes,” the redhead breathed, “I guess we could’ve.”  
“That’s what happened,” Stiles stated, “The Careers followed the sound until they found her, and then they killed her.”  
“It’s just us and them now,” Isaac muttered quietly.  
Stiles didn’t know what to say. It was definitely easier to try to push all thoughts of Meredith’s fate away. Still, the thoughts pressed upon them anyway. The fear never went away, not even when they formed a huddle for sleeping that night. As Isaac kept watch, Lydia and Stiles gripped each other’s hands tightly. Her breath was soft against his neck as they drifted to sleep.  
Small comforts.  
At first light, Lydia woke the boys up to leave the cave. They packed up everything into their two bags as she quickly checked her wound. Her leg had been healing well and there was no sign of infection. From what he knew about medical care, Stiles assumed she would fully recover in another couple days. For now, she could at least walk with relative ease.  
After a quick stop at the stream to fill up the two canteens, they explored the area of the forest near the cave. Isaac was eager to practice his archery as Stiles and Lydia searched for any edible plants. They wandered slightly away from each other, but never so that someone was out of sight. It was nice to be out and about, almost nice enough to forget the reason they were there. An hour had nearly passed, or so it felt like, when they came back together. Isaac had shot down two birds and a relatively plump rodent while the other two teenagers had collected an array of edible leaves and berries. It seemed like a good haul, so the trio decided to head back to the cave and put their findings into their packs.  
They were in a good mood considering, well, everything. Isaac was walking backwards so he could easily speak to the other two, talking animatedly about the different ways he cooked birds at home with herbs he found around the local District 6 forest. Stiles and Lydia couldn’t help but smile and wish along with him that they could have even those luxuries. Their hands brushed against each other’s as they walked, each tiny touch shooting sparks in his chest.   
When suddenly, Isaac stopped dead in his tracks and squinted slightly. They stopped beside him in confusion and glanced back where he was looking.  
“Are you seeing that?” he asked.  
Their silence was enough of an answer. The trio was currently staring at a growing smudge in the sky, the edges of it moving swiftly. Mere seconds later, it was close enough to see that it was made up of a few large birds, each with a long beak and wide wingspan and brilliantly blue feathers.   
“Lydia, what kind of bird is that?” Stiles asked anxiously.  
She shook her head.  
“Nothing I’ve read about,” she replied.  
“So they’re Capitol-engineered?” he questioned.  
“Yeah,” Lydia clarified.  
“Then why the hell are we still here?!” Isaac yelled as he spun on his heel and started running towards the cave.  
Stiles and Lydia quickly followed him, wind rushing in their ears as they raced through the trees. The cave felt so achingly close yet just out of reach. Lydia was falling behind as her injured leg became more and more pronounced. Stiles grabbed her hand and tried to pull her along, but it was clear that the birds were closing in on them. After he glanced back and saw their struggle, Isaac grasped Lydia’s other arm so that the whole trio was moving as one to safety.  
But they weren’t safe. Stiles crashed to the ground as the bird the size of a large dog pummeled into his back. The redhead’s hand slipped from his grasp as he quickly stood up again and drew his sword from its sheath. A battle had begun, and there was a bird for each of them. He tried to slash it but the mutation was too fast and always seemed to move away just in time. It swiped at him with razor-sharp talons, eliciting cries of pain with each new cut on his skin. Clearly, Lydia and Isaac were fairing no better. The redhead’s bird pulled her to the ground and nearly bit her before she managed to plunge her knife through its throat. Pushing it to the side, she jumped to help Isaac who was struggling the most. He should’ve been a better fighter than Stiles, but his weapon of choice wasn’t nearly as useful at close range.   
The battle continued as he was surprised to land a few deadly blows. His bird now displayed some bleeding wounds, but it still came after him with deadly force. The trio slowly tried to fight their way to the cave entrance, dealing a blow and then running and then repeating the process. Soon they were able to dash inside, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion as the birds scrabbled to fit in the narrow doorway. It was clear they couldn’t, but another ten minutes went by before they flew away, during which the three teenagers huddled together taking huge gasping breaths and crying.   
Once it felt safe, they pulled away from each other and hesitantly dabbed at their wounds. They were covered in bleeding cuts, small but painful, and Stiles found that he just couldn’t stop wincing with every movement. And yet, the only one making a sound was Isaac. He sat against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and a hand pressed against his right upper arm, as he whimpered softly. Lydia clearly noticed this as well. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concern as she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“Isaac,” she whispered, “What happened? Are you okay?”  
“Y-yeah,” he let out, not moving a muscle, “I got bitten, that’s all. I-I’m fine, it just… it really burns.”  
“Let me see,” she asked softly.  
He hesitated but eventually did as she wanted because this was Lydia and she was the sun that shined in his night. Stiles knew how close they were. He had realized their sibling-like bond long ago. She gasped at the sight of his wound. At first glance, it seemed like any other cut, but when he looked closer he could see that it was tinged an unnatural violet color. Lydia looked up at him with panicked eyes.  
“I’ve never seen this before either,” she said almost inaudibly, “I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong.”  
And she must hate that. Lydia Martin was supposed to know everything, supposed to be knowledgeable enough to help in situations like this. But she was lost.   
“Not fine, I take it back,” Isaac stated with a pained gasp as tears leaked from his eyes, “It’s getting worse, oh god, it’s getting worse.”  
The redhead instinctively pulled him to her so that his head rested at the nape of her neck. She carded her fingers through his sweat-dampened curls as he whimpered and sobbed into her shoulder, his hand back to pressing desperately against the wound. They knew it was poison. It had to be poison. Stiles had no idea what to do, but he knelt down beside them and tried to be some sort of comforting presence at least.  
“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed at him almost instantly, “Do something.”  
He stared at her, eyes wide as saucers, even as Isaac’s cries grew louder. Stiles stood back up and paced the floor, his heart beating erratically because a fourteen-year-old boy was dying and he was doing nothing.   
“Derek, please, what do I do?” he begged quietly, “There must be something, please.”  
And then things changed, and horrible realization hit. Isaac’s cries turned into agonizing screams, filling the cave with their anguish. Lydia’s soft sob broke through as she tried to contain his thrashing movements to no avail.  
“He’s incoherent, he doesn’t understand what’s going on,” she yelled to Stiles through the noise.  
“Lydia, this was what hap-,”  
“I know, Stiles,” she interrupted, chin wrinkled and voice wobbling, “but I don’t know what to do.”  
“This was the Gamemakers’ plan all along,” he spat angrily, “You kill your teammate yourself or you wait for him to die as he leads your enemies to you. How much time do you think it’ll take the Careers to come here and slaughter us?”  
Lydia closed her eyes and shook her head.  
“We don’t have much time,” she answered before burrowing her head against Isaac as she continued trying to comfort him.  
Stiles did the only thing he could think of.  
“You told me to trust you, Derek,” he said to the space around him, “I trust you, I trust you, please, we need help.”  
Not a minute later, he could hear a faint beeping sounds form outside. Hope flaring in his chest, Stiles rushed out and found a small silver canister on the ground with a parachute beside it. He took the whole thing inside the cave and frantically opened the container, Lydia looking on. Stiles even let himself smile a bit when he found a vial and syringe inside. It was just what they needed, surely.  
And then he looked at the label.  
Morphling.  
His heart dropped into his stomach as he took in the information. It was a sedative, that’s all. With numb fingers he picked up the tiny note underneath the items and read it aloud to Lydia with a shaking voice.  
“There’s no cure. I’m so sorry. Save the alliance.”  
A steady stream of tears was falling from her eyes but she made no sound. Instead she held out a shaking hand. He picked up the two items and simply dropped the canister and slip of paper on the ground. Stiles handed the syringe and vial to her which she held carefully.  
“Hold him down,” she said quietly.  
Gently, Stiles brushed the curls from Isaac’s face in some sort of comforting gesture before he gripped his torso to keep his arms from flailing about. He found himself softly giving words of reassurance as the boy continued to scream. Lydia expertly filled the syringe with morphling and tapped it to get rid of any air bubbles. She took in a trembling breath and caught his nervous gaze.  
That was when Isaac saw the syringe and it turned out that he wasn’t as incoherent as they thought. He instantly started fighting Stiles’s embrace as his eyes filled with panic.  
“No!” he screamed, “Not that, please, I don’t want it!”  
“I know, I’m sorry,” Lydia cried, holding down his right forearm with her left hand, “I’m sorry, but you… you’ll be okay.”  
But he kept screaming, the sound so close to Stiles’s ear and so acute that he knew he’d never get them out of his head.   
“You promised,” Isaac added, “Lydia, you promised!”  
She let out more apologies but still plunged the needle into his arm, throwing it on the ground haphazardly once the syringe was empty. Mere seconds later, Isaac completely quieted down went limp in Stiles’s arms. Lydia scrambled to hold him so that his upper body was on her lap, his head resting in the crook of her elbow as she ran her left hand through his curls lovingly. Stiles sat to their side with Isaac’s hand in his, wanting to do something.   
“I’m sorry,” she whispered one last time.  
Isaac’s silvery blue eyes blinked slowly.  
“I don’t want to die like him,” he said, almost inaudibly.  
“You won’t,” she replied softly, “Just… just close your eyes for me, okay?”  
“I don’t want to,” he said, voice wobbling, “I don’t think I can open them again.”  
“Do you still trust me?”  
“I guess so.”  
Lydia let out one heartbroken laugh.  
“Okay, so close your eyes.”  
And, of course, he did so.  
“Do you remember that time we spent a whole day walking out of the city and the outlying city, all the way to the desert to get away from the light?”  
“Yeah,” he said, long and drawn out, “to see the stars?”  
“That’s right,” she smiled, “Do you remember how beautiful it was? Away from all the industrial factories and exhaust, the harsh manmade lights?”  
“I never wanted to leave it,” Isaac mumbled wistfully.  
“The sky was hardly dark,” she described, “It was sweeping with fields of bright dots, some parts even brighter than others. And we just laid there all night and watched them. Can you picture it?”  
His lips twitched into a small smile.  
“I could never forget it,” he stated.  
The trio sat there for a while, Lydia and Stiles both watching Isaac’s chest rise and fall with longer and longer intervals. He held the younger boy’s hand with both of his, as if just keeping it in his grasp would keep Isaac here too.  
“I’ll see my mom again,” he whispered.  
“Yeah,” Lydia replied, “of course, you will.”  
“And Camden,” he continued, opening his eyes to look at her, “I think I understand now. Maybe I can forgive him.”  
“Only if you want to,” she told him quietly.  
“I want to, I really want to,” he said, dissolving into sobs this time not brought on by any physical pain, “I miss him. I want my brother back.”  
Isaac squeezed Stiles’s hands as he melted into Lydia’s embrace.   
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Isaac Lahey died a half hour later, the morphling lasting long enough to suppress the agonizing death the Capital had planned for him, but not stop it entirely. It took another ten minutes for Stiles to convince Lydia it was time to let go of his body. He picked up the fourteen-year-old bridal style, not able to ignore how light he was. They walked out of the cave and laid him at the edge of the forest. Lydia plucked a bright yellow flower from a nearby patch and wrapped it around one of the wooden arrows before placing it in his grasp. She ruffled his hair gently for one last time and walked back to lean against the volcano. Stiles swallowed and kneeled down beside him.  
“You showed them,” he whispered, “You lived well, okay?”  
Stiles and Lydia watched as a hovercraft entered the arena and picked Isaac up, his curls ruffling in the wind, before going back to the cave. He felt numb. Erica’s death had been quick and unexpected, the grief was instantaneous. But this death was so drawn out and painful already that Stiles couldn’t sit down and cry more. But maybe that was because he didn’t really know him that well. Lydia sat in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, hand covering her mouth in heartache.   
Meanwhile, Stiles forced himself to do something. He pulled out one of the birds that Isaac- Isaac- had killed and started skinning it to cook. The action passed the time well. After a while, when he had moved on to cooking it over the heat of the lava stream, Lydia moved to sit cross-legged next to him. They didn’t say anything, not for several more minutes anyway, but the close presence of each other already felt a bit better.   
“In case you didn’t notice,” she finally began, “we’re not unfamiliar with morphling.”  
In fact, he had noticed.   
“Well, I know your mentor is an addict, so… I figured it had to do with that.”  
“That’s a part of it,” she agreed, “District 6 is kind of rampant with the drug. And Isaac… he hasn’t had the greatest life. After his mom died, his dad started beating him and his older brother a lot. Camden always sort of protected Isaac but sometimes things couldn’t be helped. They helped each out, though, the two of them. When Camden got a bit older, he started using morphling. Suddenly some of their money just began disappearing to supply him, and then Mr. Lahey would beat both of them for it, and Camden would use to feel better, and the whole cycle kept repeating. Unfortunately, it’s not a unique situation. Isaac’s always been sort of quiet, and after my dad died we just clicked together. The odds of us both being reaped are astronomical, and yet it happened. Anyway… a couple years ago, Camden accidentally overdosed and died. Isaac never forgave him for leaving him alone with their father. He made me promise to never let him use that stuff.”  
“It’s not your fault,” Stiles told her gently, “Being sedated was his best option.”  
Her hands wrung together.  
“I know,” she whispered.  
“He didn’t blame you, not in the end.”   
She nodded absentmindedly before turning towards him abruptly.  
“It is the end, isn’t it?” Lydia stated, “How many of us are left? Five? The Final 8 has definitely come and gone.”  
He had completely forgotten about that. Derek must have gone back to District 10 to talk to his family. All of the Capitol has probably seen an interview of his father, probably Scott too. Maybe even Melissa or Allison. He hated it. He didn’t want them anywhere near his family, and it hurt worse because he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.   
“The message is from Derek, right?” Lydia asked.  
Stiles picked the slip of paper up from the floor to check. He had assumed it was from his mentor, but now he wasn’t sure. The redhead took the cooked bird off its stick over the lava and set it down to cool as he examined the paper’s front and back.  
“It doesn’t say,” he said in confusion, “There’s nothing on it to mark either district or anything.”  
“Makes sense,” she mumbled before speaking up, “Morphling is expensive. Derek and Jackson might’ve pooled their money to get it.”  
He nodded. So much of their money is gone now, then. They were probably saving it for an emergency, which is definitely what happened, but Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if some people in the Capitol thought it was a waste. After all, they could’ve just killed him and gotten it over with. Except he knew Lydia could never hurt Isaac, and he didn’t think he could either. It simply wasn’t possible.   
Stiles pulled a wing off the bird and began picking out the meat, eating fresh food for the first time in at least a day. It tasted bland in his mouth despite his hunger, but he almost expected that. They ate in silence and finished rather quickly, but it was satisfying at least for now. Afterwards, they huddled together in the usual corner, arms interlocked and her head on his shoulder.  
“We have to split up pretty soon,” Lydia stated quietly.  
He knew. It was the thing he dreaded most of all, but he knew.  
“Not yet, though,” he whispered back, “I think I’ll hold on to the time we have left.”  
She lifted her head and caught his gaze, that conflicted but overcome look in her eyes again. In one swift move, the redhead placed her hands on the sides of his face and drew him into a kiss. For all that it shocked him, the tender kiss lasted several seconds. When they pulled away, lips still mere inches apart and her hands not leaving their position, he let out a trembling breath.  
“I don’t get it,” Stiles asked, “Is this a distraction or do you really like me?”  
Her thumb stroked his cheek delicately.   
“Is it wrong to say both?” she replied.  
No. And maybe he needed this too.  
Without answering aloud, he kissed her again, running his hand through her now knotted waves. Cuts still adorned her skin and her eyes were red from crying, but she was warm and loving and beautiful. She was the genius Lydia Martin who had just lost the only true friend she had ever known, and Stiles Stilinski found that he loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another late update, but I hope this makes up for it! We've only got one chapter in the arena left so hopefully we'll get this moving along. So many people have left kudos and favorited this and whatnot over the months, so thank you, thank you! You people keep me going! This chapter title comes from Gabrielle Aplin's The Power of Love.


	8. Mistake or Design

He woke up with Lydia’s head on his chest, her hair tickling his chin. For a moment, Stiles was startled by the fact that no one had kept watch the night before, but there was nothing to do about that now. They were safe and that was enough. There was no use getting worked up over it, especially because he didn’t want to wake her. She looked so content asleep, so peaceful compared to the despair of yesterday. He wanted her to stay that way as long as possible.  
Last night was sort of a daze, not in the way that he couldn’t remember but in the way that it all sort of blended together. Lydia had kissed him. Stiles kissed her back. Isaac was dead and nothing was okay but if they could just hold tight to each other then maybe they could feel like it was. He wouldn’t really call it a make-out session because that made it sound like they were two naïve teenagers stupidly in love. So they had kissed for a while, and they were very very close while doing so, but it was partly a distraction.   
Partly. Lydia had said it herself. She liked him, but she was also smart enough to be realistic about the situation. Now here they were, lying side by side, and Stiles finally understood the way Scott and Allison never got sick of each other. They were so ecstatic about seeing the person they love even if they had only been apart twenty minutes. They loved so unconditionally, so unselfishly. He had always teased them about it playfully, but now he was looking at Lydia as if she were the whole universe.  
Stupidly in love. Maybe that was an accurate description. One thing is for sure, this is what Derek had been warning him about. “Don’t get attached,” he said. If Stiles thought he was fucked before, he was definitely fucked now.   
“You awake?” a soft voice asked.  
“Yeah,” he answered.  
She traced circles on his arm absentmindedly, still resting against him.  
“What’s our next course of action?” Lydia questioned.  
Stiles hummed in thought, noticing the way she closed her eyes as the sound vibrated his chest.   
“We’re good on food and water right now, right?” he inquired.  
“Pretty sure,” she replied.  
“I guess we could just stay here until we run out again,” Stiles stated.  
Abruptly, Lydia sat up and looked at him thoughtfully.  
“Don’t you think we should, I don’t know, do something?” she said, rolling her eyes slightly.  
He blinked and pulled himself up to lean against the cave wall. The redhead was probably right. Damn it, she was always right. Hiding out wouldn’t work forever. Eventually, they’ll have to deal with the Careers.   
“Okay, so we should start doing some offense,” he agreed, “But what? We couldn’t win with outright attack.”  
Lydia nodded.  
“We need something subtle and effective.”  
He bit his lip and allowed his gaze to roam the cave, going over their food supply and weapons before settling on the discarded parachute and container. Stiles narrowed his eyes and stared at them, a plan starting to formulate in his mind.   
“You would trust a parachute, wouldn’t you?” he asked her.  
She looked at him confusedly.  
“Yes,” she replied slowly, drawing out the word.  
“You wouldn’t question it at all?” he continued, getting a bit excited, “You’d take what was inside and use it?”  
“Unless there was something to make me suspicious, yes,” Lydia answered.  
He grinned and stood up, picking up the container and holding it out to her triumphantly.  
“So let’s abuse that trust,” Stiles proposed enthusiastically.  
She took the parachute and switched to a cross-legged position, examining the silver container with a small half-smile.  
“It could work,” Lydia stated, lifting her gaze to meet his, “but it needs to beep again, or else it becomes suspicious.”  
His grin instantly disappeared.  
“Well, how are we supposed to do that?” he exclaimed.  
The redhead merely smirked.  
“You think I can’t figure out this simple piece of technology?” she questioned wryly.  
“Oh,” he responded, taken aback but quickly recovering with a laugh, “How could I ever doubt you.”  
“Not sure,” Lydia replied with a faked sigh, “I thought we already established that I’m a genius.”  
“Oh, I could never forget that,” he said matter-of-factly.  
She smiled softly, this one completely genuine, and just looked at him for a moment. Nervous under her marveling gaze, he sat down across from her.  
“Anyway,” she continued, swallowing and holding op the parachute, “we still need something to put in it.”  
“Right,” he agreed.  
“I suppose we could walk through the forest until we identify something poisonous,” Lydia stated.  
“I’m kind of counting on it.”  
And so they did. The pair armed themselves and packed their bags before setting out into the woods. Stepping out was difficult though. Stiles had nearly forgotten where yesterday’s whole ordeal had begun, but now it was all back. He and Lydia watched the sky for those birds almost more than they scanned the plants. The more they were outside, the more anxious they became. Every little sound was an incoming Career or a vicious Capitol creation. Both were terrifying prospects. Finally Lydia identified the dark berries on a bush as nightlock, a deadly and fast-acting toxin. The pair gathered several large handfuls and quickly headed back to the cave.  
As the redhead fiddled with the wires inside the container, Stiles cooked a small rodent over the lava stream. He couldn’t help but feel guilty over the fact that they were eating what Isaac essentially died for. That’s what they had been outside for yesterday, to get more food, and the fourteen-year-old had paid the price. He should have protected him. He deserved to live just as much as Stiles did. Tears pricked his eyes again but Stiles hurriedly pushed them away.  
Lydia caught him though. She paused in her work and stared at him thoughtfully.  
“He wouldn’t be mad,” she told him quietly, “And neither would Erica, for that matter. They knew what could happen, what was likely to happen, really… It doesn’t mean it stops hurting though. I understand how you feel.”  
He let out a shuddering breath and nodded.  
“It’s just…” Stiles bit his lip, “What gives us the right to live over someone else?”  
“What gives anybody the right to live?” she responded, “And anyway, don’t get ahead of yourself. There are still three other people left.”  
And, god, wouldn’t it be a miracle if one of them made it out. Stiles couldn’t help but think that, and he knew she was thinking it too. What they were doing now was only postponing the inevitable. Unless something else happened, one of them or maybe both would have to face a Career. They weren’t superior fighters. Stiles could hold someone off for a while but he wasn’t good enough to make any damage on the person. As soon as he tires out, he’s a goner.   
He picked at the cooked rodent and deemed it finished, calling over Lydia to eat while it still tasted mildly good. She gave a distracted answer, clearly caught up in figuring out the container. Slowly eating his share, he watched her, taking in all the little quirks. She bit the inside of her lip and wrinkled the space in between her eyebrows when she concentrated. The waves falling in front of her face didn’t even seem to bother her at all.   
Suddenly a clear beeping sound rang through the air and Lydia looked up at him with a beaming smile.  
“Never doubted you for a second,” he stated with an equally wide grin.  
“Well, I would think not,” she smirked as she closed the panel over the wires and reached for the nightlock.  
“Wait,” Stiles spoke up, causing her to pause, “why don’t you eat first? That’ll be there when the food’s gone.”  
She licked her lips and nodded slowly, giving him a soft smile.   
“I guess you’re right.”  
Lydia sat next to him and picked at the meat, eating just because she had to. It was the only reason these days. The beeping sounds continued in the background but what usually might be annoying was simply comforting. It was a hopeful noise, giving them something to hold on to, like maybe it could solve all their problems. As his right knee bumped her left one lightly, he felt altogether at ease. Stupid, he knew, but at this point he relished it. After all, it couldn’t last long.  
The beginning signs of evening were just showing in the sky when the duo left their cave. Lydia had wrapped the container in his jacket and stuffed it in a backpack to muffle the beeping as much as possible. They entered the forest heavily armed, still far too anxious about not being safely in their shelter. Lydia even had Isaac’s wooden arrows within reach. Neither of them knew how to properly use a bow, but it felt like a tragic waste not to use them. Besides, as the redhead had pointed out earlier, they could stab a person at short range easily.   
After filling up their canteens, the duo decided to follow the stream as closely as possible while staying relatively covered in the woods. As far as they could tell, it was the only source of freshwater in the arena. Sooner or later, the Careers would come by it. Stiles wanted to place the container farther down the trail, away from the volcano and closer to the cornucopia where he assumed they had made camp. The Careers usually took advantage of that plentiful area in the Games.   
“How about here?” Lydia suggested.  
He glanced around the area and eyed the distance from the volcano, making a noncommittal noise.  
“Uh… I guess so,” he replied.  
“Stiles,” she said, slightly annoyed, “what’s the issue?”  
He shook his head.  
“Nothing, it’s stupid,” he muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”  
She made a displeased sound but didn’t press further. They walked to the edge of the forest, just by the banks of the stream, and quickly but carefully pulled the container from Lydia’s backpack. She hooked the parachute back to the device and held it high as Stiles, the taller of the pair, forcibly snagged it on a tree branch. In the quiet of the woods, the beeping was shockingly loud, and their anxiety grew with each passing second. As soon as the trap was set up, they rushed away from the area and headed back to the cave.  
The walk back felt longer, but at least they were treated to a beautiful sunset. It was fabricated by the Capitol of course, yet Stiles couldn’t help the warmth he felt just by seeing it. That array of orange, pink, and purple was something to be enjoyed no matter what. As they walked, Lydia gently nudged her little finger towards his hand and, without words, they linked pinkies. He didn’t know why exactly they did this. All he knew was that it felt right, as if they didn’t just plant a poison for someone to consume. As if they were just two teenagers with nothing better to do but give each other butterflies in their stomachs.   
The sky had only been getting dark for a few minutes by the time they reached the cave. That is, their shelter was barely within their sight when the cannon went off. Lydia and Stiles stopped dead in their tracks and tightened their hold on each other’s fingers. He took in a shuddering breath and let it out with a barely suppressed sob, eyes fixed on the lingering pink of sunset still on the horizon. Lydia wrapped her arms around him, head buried in the nape of his neck as he tightly held her. Suddenly, at the boom of music, they jumped apart and looked towards the sky where the Capitol insignia was blazoned.   
This was soon replaced by a teenaged girl with a high ponytail of dirty-blonde hair. Stiles stared at this picture and studied it like nothing before. He saw her tentative smile and dark brown eyes, her crooked nose and dash of freckles. And he saw so clearly in his mind’s eye what wasn’t in the picture. Her parents sobbing, taking gasping breaths, at the sight on their screens. The life she could’ve had, cruelly stolen. Stiles killed her.   
“Oh,” Lydia let out with a wobbly voice, “I see.”  
He turned to her, eyes glistening with unshed tears.  
“What?”  
“Why you were hesitating before,” she told him, “I was just thinking about the moment, I was focusing on the technical. I… I forgot…”  
Stiles swallowed and simply took her hand, this time holding it completely, and guided her towards the cave. The picture had disappeared anyway. Once safely inside, they dropped their bags and weapons immediately. Both still in shock, the pair stood trembling for several quiet seconds. But he couldn’t take it anymore. Stiles gently embraced her, kissing her temple lightly and placing his hand on the back of her head.  
“It’s not your fault, Lydia,” he said softly, “I was there too.”  
Slowly but surely, she returned the hug, silent tears dampening his t-shirt. They stood that way for nearly a lifetime, and he hated what they were feeling. It was truly ridiculous. The Capitol is what forced them to devise that plan. It’s what really killed that girl. She was a Career but she didn’t deserve death. She was just as much of a victim as they were. President Gerard is the murderer. Stiles knew that and he knew Lydia did too, so why did they feel so utterly broken? The guilt was all-consuming, crawling through his veins and threatening to take him over.   
He needed to be stronger. They couldn’t afford to get caught up in this. Which is why, when they finally pulled apart and sat down, he tried to stop the shaking that began anew with Lydia’s next words.  
“Did you realize there are four of us now?” she asked quietly.  
As a matter of fact, he had. In the midst of the adrenaline and fear that had made up the day, there was a moment where it crossed his mind. At the time, it had felt very far away. Now, though, it was inescapable.  
“Yeah,” Stiles answered hoarsely, “and I remember what we decided too. We still… we still need to do that, don’t we? We can’t… I mean-,”  
“No, you’re right,” she interrupted, biting her lip slightly, “We need to break up the alliance. It’s for our own good.”  
He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded firmly.  
“But…” He took in a hopeful breath and searched out her gaze. “One more night won’t hurt, right?”  
Her green eyes met his amber ones as she gave a tiny nod.   
“One more night,” she whispered.  
They moved so that they sat as close as possible and took out the last catch left from Isaac. Although they had already eaten a large-ish meal that morning, it felt like the right thing to do. It’d be unfair for someone to leave with food and someone to leave without, and anyway, this whole thing was quickly coming to an end. Neither Stiles nor Lydia said it aloud, but the feeling was almost tangible. They knew the Gamemakers didn’t let things stay quiet very long, and with only four tributes left the finale was practically at their doorstep.   
As the bird cooked, Stiles and Lydia leaned into each other, fingers intertwined. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder and the weight helped him breathe easy. She made him feel put-together when all signs pointed to his inevitable falling-apart. All he needed was to hold on, hold on, and maybe he’d never feel broken again.  
But that was stupid, and naïve, and everything Derek had warned him about. Stiles couldn’t hold on no matter how much he wanted to, and he couldn’t ask Lydia to either. A few minutes later, the bird was ready to eat, and they began picking at it quietly. Yet it wasn’t an awkward silence. They had gotten past that. Now it was the type of silence they could be comfortable in. With little glances and timid smiles, no talking was necessary. Besides, they were eating.   
And when they were done, night was fully upon them. Stiles settled in the corner where they usually slept and Lydia lay beside him, not quite parallel, so that she could rest her head on his chest and he could wrap his arms around her. Their breathing synchronized and she gripped his hand, firm but not too tight. Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. At that moment, it was easy to pretend they were somewhere else. And so he did. He kissed the top of her head and fell asleep, as if all his troubles could fade away in the night.  
But as expected, everything was still terrible in the morning. They barely spoke as they packed their things, wordlessly dividing what was left of their rations as equally as possible. Eye contact was practically off-limits, as if sharing a glance would be enough to make Stiles tear up. To be honest, it very well could be. But he couldn’t dwell on that, couldn’t think about it too much. That’s what he’s been doing all this time. It just wasn’t quite working anymore.  
“Are you going to look at me now?” she snapped, though most of the bite was missing.  
Leave it to Lydia to call him out. They stood outside the makeshift cave doorway, everything having been cleared, and he felt like something inside his chest was snapping. A miniscule part of it wasn’t even leaving her, it was leaving the cave itself. Without that shelter they would both be dead. That’s a simple fact. It represented safety and security. Even in the midst of the Games, it felt like a haven. And now as Stiles finally locked eyes with the redhead, he couldn’t help but feel… well… helpless.  
“Lydia, what are we gonna do?” he whispered.  
Her lips twitched into a half smile.  
“You go one way, I go the other,” she suggested softly.  
He nodded minutely. It’s not what he meant but it was clear she knew that. He felt like saying something meaningful but there were no words. What could Stiles possibly say? He didn’t even know how to describe what he was feeling. Love was too strong a term at this point. It wasn’t possible, but that potential was there. And, he supposed, that’s all it will ever be now.  
“Remember why we’re doing this,” he told her, voice trembling, “I care about you too much to ever hurt you.”  
“I know,” she replied quietly, “We don’t have another choice. When this ends, one of us will be going home. There’s no use in both our promises being broken.”  
He nodded again and then they just stood there staring at each other, as cliché as that sounds. Both sets of eyes misting, both people refusing to make the first move and leave. Stiles couldn’t stop looking at her because this was it. This would be the last time he saw her no matter who won, so he wanted to take her in, to breathe in everything that was Lydia Martin. Not only those light green eyes, soft red waves, and beautiful face, but her unapologetic genius, her snapping remarks, and her faithful compassion. And still he barely knew this girl. There must be more to know, more to love, and he would never get that chance.  
So without even thinking about it, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was only meant to last a second but she pulled him closer and continued it. Eyes closed, he placed a gentle hand on her cheek and realized it was wet. He couldn’t help but a laugh a little and she pulled away slightly at the sound.  
“Are we only gonna kiss when we’re crying?” he asked, because he was too.   
How could he not?   
“It seems that way,” she replied with a small smirk before kissing him again.  
Her lips were soft and she was so warm and full of love and he didn’t want to leave her. Please, don’t make him leave her. But everything had to end eventually. When she finally pulled away, she gripped his hand tightly and led him outside the cave.   
“No matter what,” she began.  
“Try to win,” he finished.  
Neither could say the actual goodbye. It wasn’t necessary anyway. Almost as if it was rehearsed, they turned their backs on each other, hands still clasped together. With shaking steps, they began walking away until their fingers could hold on no more. His skin brushed hers for the last time and he refused to look back. Stiles forced himself to keep moving and keep his head facing forward. There wasn’t enough self-control in the world to keep him going if he looked back.   
Time passed. He just continued walking. The tears dried on his face in the blistering heat and he took tentative sips from his canteen. It occurred to him that perhaps he should have a plan. As it was, he was just going to keep going until he ran into trouble or night fell. Whichever came first. And maybe he would win in a fight, and maybe he won’t. He should perhaps also be more worried about safety, but what was the point.  
It was late evening now. The beginnings of night were starting to be shown in the sky as he leaned against a tree and chewed slowly on the last of the dried fruit. That’s when the cannon went off. The sound almost caused him to choke and tears pricked at his eyes. Lydia, that could’ve been Lydia. He had no way of knowing for at least another hour or so but he couldn’t stop the thoughts. She could be dead.   
And how could he go on. Damn, that was dramatic, wasn’t it? Derek would roll his eyes so hard they’d hurt if he knew that thought had just run through his head. And he had to keep his promise. Try to win, try to win, try to win. Come home. And, god, did he want to go home.  
As he was mulling these thoughts over, he heard a dull roar, then a massive cracking sound. And there was the roar again. Confusedly, he turned to wear it seemed to be coming from, slightly scared of more Capitol creations. What he saw was fifty times more terrifying. The volcano was erupting. Some part of him had always suspected this was part of the Gamemakers plans, but it shocked him nonetheless. Molten rock spewed from the top of the formation and more was exploding from it every couple seconds. He stared at it for a bit before the instinct to run kicked in, and then he was sprinting through the forest. For a while he just ran for the ocean but doubts soon sprang up. What if the arena barrier was too close to shore and he wasn’t safe there? How deep into the water did he have to go to avoid being killed by lava? He had no answers, so he switched directions slightly. The Cornucopia was made of strong metal, surely able to survive the molten rock, and if he could climb to the top he’d be fine. Hopefully, at least. He really didn’t have another option.  
And then he was thrown to the ground in one hard movement. It was eerily similar to the start of the Games with the District 9 girl, but this time he knew it was a Career. Stiles quickly got to his feet to see Ethan. Pulling out his sword, he brandished it and eyed the sea of lava approaching on the horizon. It seemed far off now, but he knew better.  
“We don’t have time to fight,” he pleaded.  
“When else are we gonna do it, 10?” Ethan spat back, his own sword gripped tight, “This is the finale, don’t you see? One of us is gonna die.”  
He didn’t wait for a response. Their weapons clanged together as Stiles struggled to defend himself, but this wasn’t like his fight with Matt. This time he was on the move. He kept running towards the Cornucopia, fighting to his best ability. He was lucky though. Well, no. Lucky wasn’t the right word. Ethan clearly wasn’t at his best. His moves were desperate and angry, less calculated than he had seen in the Training Center. There was something in his eyes.  
He was just… off.  
And Stiles found that he understood. He was a Career, but he was still human. The lava was far too close now, and the smoke was everywhere. He began squinting against the harsh substance in the air just as they entered the clearing. He knew he was fast, so he made a break for it. He ran to the very back of the Cornucopia where he could easily climb on top. Ethan was close behind and went to slash his legs once Stiles had the high ground, but he moved just in time. Letting out an angry yell, he joined him on the structure and launched into a series of enraged moves. Stiles luck had nearly run out.  
The blade sliced the back of his hand, causing him to cry out and involuntarily drop his sword onto the ground out of reach. But he’d come too far to give up. Frantically, Stiles decided to tackle him. They hit the metal surface hard. Ethan was certainly surprised, and it was just enough to loosen his grip ever so slightly. Stiles grabbed the hand holding the sword and slammed it on the metal while trying to pull the weapon away. It didn’t quite work. What was he doing? Ethan was much more experienced at this. He managed to push Stiles to the side to get him off, and that area of the Cornucopia was narrow. Far too narrow.  
He almost fell off entirely, but Stiles left arm hit the ground and supported him instead. The support lasted less than a millisecond as he felt lava up to the middle of his forearm. The pain was blinding and he couldn’t even hear himself screaming. Everything was forgotten. It was just make it stop, get it away. He somehow pulled himself over enough to pull his arm up, the steady stream of tears continuing nonetheless. Still letting out occasional cries of pain as the wound throbbed, he realized that he should be dead. Where was Ethan?  
Opening his eyes finally, he saw the Career still flat on his back, this time on the curve of the Cornucopia. Holding his sword with the tip against his neck was a familiar redhead.  
“Lydia!” he cried as he struggled to get up.  
She kept her gaze on Ethan, knowing better than to get distracted. Clutching his left arm to his chest, Stiles stood beside her and looked on the scene. Now that he was closer, he saw the tear streaks on her face and the desperation on his.   
“Go ahead,” he spat, “get it over with. I’m sure the Capitol will love to see the two lovebirds fight to the death.”  
They both flinched. It’s true. Had they really underestimated each other that much? Both of them surviving was never in the plan. And where had she been that she was able to save him?   
“It’s not worth it anyway,” Ethan continued as, to their shock, he started crying, “Aiden was right. I fucked up big time. I never should’ve volunteered. I’m never gonna see him again. I’m never gonna see Danny again.”  
Lydia and Stiles exchanged a stunned glance.  
With renewed vigor, the Career pressed on, “You have to tell them I’m sorry. Tell them Danny I love him, and I’mso sorry that I didn’t listen.”  
“Eth-,” Stiles began.  
Just then, Ethan grabbed the sword’s blade and thrust it into his neck. The cannon went off in seconds. Lydia instantly dropped the weapon and let out a sob.  
“Oh my god,” she breathed.  
He had to agree. And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to freak out about what had just happened. He was too busy focusing on the now.  
“Lydia, we’re the last two, aren’t we?” he asked quietly, knowing the answer all too well.  
She slowly turned her gaze to him with an anguished expression.  
“Yeah,” she replied softly, “I killed Kali.”  
He nodded, swallowed hard, and forced himself to walk to the top of Cornucopia before sitting down. He wanted to get away from Ethan’s body, but mostly the adrenaline that had rushed through his veins after realizing Lydia was there had faded. His arm was disgusting and painful. The outer layer of skin was nearly gone and all that remained was bleeding agony. Stiles felt himself crying all over again as Lydia sat to his right. She leaned in close and her presence made him feel minutely better. The lava had engulfed the whole island and the resulting fumes were all over. They couldn’t help but start coughing. Lydia gently wrapped her arms around him as embers swirled in the air. Even the metal beneath them felt like it was burning.  
“W-what do we do now?” he managed to get out, eyes squeezed shut in pain, “I can’t kill you, I can’t.”  
There was silence for a moment. Only Stiles’s pained breaths made a sound.  
“We wait to die,” she finally whispered.  
He immediately snapped his eyes open and met her somber gaze. Their faces were as close as possible without actually touching.  
“I recognize the type of volcanic eruption,” she replied, “It’s fast-acting and lethal. The lava’s toxic fumes will kill us soon.”  
He let out a long, quiet breath.  
“So… whoever last longer gets to keep their promise?”  
She nodded hesitantly.  
“Okay,” he replied wetly, “okay.”  
Tears streamed down her face as she rested her forehead against his. Everything was hot and burning, but he still wanted to be closer to her. He grasped her hand with his good one and held it to his chest after kissing it lightly. She shifted slightly and placed her head on his shoulder.  
“Stiles. I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be.”  
“Did we do anything right?”  
His crying picked up again, making small noises with each breath. He held her tightly with his uninjured arm and kissed the top of her head.  
“What else could we have done?”  
Stiles closed his eyes again and tried to picture District 10. The far-reaching green pastures and quaint inner village. His father’s loving but crooked smile. Scott’s wide, puppy-dog eyes. Allison’s mischievous smirk. Melissa’s gentle touch on his shoulder. He tried to remember everything, and found that some aspects had already slipped away.  
Or maybe he was slipping away. Stiles was tired, after all, and he could feel himself growing weaker. He tried to open his eyes to check Lydia but… just… couldn’t. He should be panicking, yet he was fine. It’d be dumb to say he was at peace, but he didn’t want Lydia to die. He wanted her to go home to her mother.  
And he was so tired.

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The first thing he realized was that he wasn’t burning anymore. In fact, he was a little cold. That didn’t make sense. He opened his eyes, slightly surprised that he could, and found himself in a narrow bed in a small white room. There was a dull beeping sound signaling the beat of his heart. So… he was alive.  
Stiles screamed as someone rushed in the door, but he wasn’t paying attention. Lydia was dead. She was dead. Dead. Gone. He sobbed and screamed and cried her name along with the word “no,” because it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real. How could Lydia Martin be dead?  
“Stiles!” the person yelled as he tried to keep him from thrashing around in anguish.  
“Lydia’s dead,” he sobbed, “It’s not fair! Why do I get to live? She deserves to live!”  
“Stiles, she’s alive! Listen to me, Lydia is alive!”  
The voice finally broke through and he calmed just enough to look at the man holding his shoulders and see it was Derek. His eyes were tinged with red and bruised with sleep deprivation, his hair ruffled from the commotion, but it was definitely Derek Hale. And he said she was alive.  
“H-how?” Stiles asked hoarsely, “What are you talking about?”  
His mentor shook his head in disbelief.  
“They saved you both,” he told him firmly, but with a distinctive soft edge, “We just don’t know why.”  
Stiles survived the Hunger Games. So did Lydia. He should be ecstatic, but it didn’t make any sense. One of them should be dead. He still felt like he was playing the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a long wait. I am SO sorry about that. I hit quite the writer's block, but I've had most of this written for a long time. Anyway, thank you to all my readers who are still around! You're so fantastic, I love you all. There are probably a couple questions about this chapter such as what happened during the Lydia and Kali fight and where was Lydia that made her able to jump in. Those will be answered in the next one. Cross your fingers that that one won't take as long. On another note, this chapter's title comes from Lana Del Rey's song "Born to Die" which I suggest you listen to in the wake of this latest installment. Thanks again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The name of this story comes from The Killers's song Be Still, which is a favorite of mine and really great to listen to while thinking about this. Also, the chapter's title is from Mumford and Sons's Below My Feet, another favorite. Kay, so this is shaping up to be pretty long, mostly because I really don't want to leave out anything that I don't absolutely have to. I've got big plans for this story and I'm especially excited about it. Anyway, thanks for reading!


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